Untold
by muggleborn.dragon.ryder
Summary: There are lots of little stories that remain untold...a collection of drabbles and one-shots set in the 'To Be Loved the Way You Love Me' AU. Most one-shots will feature Hiccup/Stoick father/son. Rated T just in case.
1. Sanity

Untold

Chapter 1 - Sanity

Summary: I wondered how a wolf could look so innocent in sheep's clothing...

**A/N: To any of my new readers, you don't actually have to read To Be Loved the Way You Love Me to understand the things that go on in this story, mostly. You really only need to know that Hiccup comes from Outcast Island to understand. Oh, and that he crashed on Berk. Oh and that he began-**

**You know what, maybe you should read the fic first before reading this xD I warn you, though, it's 47 chapters long. **

**Yeah. So. Here's my first chapter. I really only did this because I've been wanting to do one-shots on all the Hiccup/Stoick moments that I couldn't fit in To Be Loved the Way You Loved Me or Starlight, Star Bright. There was originally more stuff for them in Starlight Star Bright, but a lot of other crap got in the way. I think it was the plot. xD**

**Also, I've been really wondering lately what Stoick must've been thinking for the duration of chapter 30. I mean, this boy looked like a male version of his wife. This boy looked so much like her it hurt. And furthermore, Stoick genuinely cared about Hiccup very deeply for a while there in To Be Loved the Way You Love Me, and you can't expect him to just forget all about that in two seconds, after learning Hiccup is an Outcast. **

* * *

I knew something was wrong from the moment the Murderous left our shores. My gaze rested on Hiccup, who seemed unable to look at anyone; his hands were clasped in front of him, and he stared resolutely at the ground.

"What's going on?" I tried to sound bright and cheery in the hopes that it would bring a smile to someone's face, but no such luck; everybody stared stonily back at me, unwilling to answer.

A little bit of panic came then as I ran through the possibilities in my head. 'For Thor's sake,' I thought to myself, 'this island only has a couple hundred people. How much could have happened while I was gone?'

"Hiccup?" I turned to him for his explanation, hoping he would do or say something to diffuse the tension.

He didn't look at me; he hunched slightly, like he thought it very likely that I would lean over and strike him at any moment, but he gave no other indication that he had heard me or even that I had spoken at all.

"What's going on?" I tried to control the rising panic in my tone; why wasn't anybody speaking?

"WHAT'S GOING ON IS THAT THIS BOY IS AN OUTCAST!" yelled Mildew. He was pointing his staff directly at Hiccup, having pushed and shoved to get to the front of the crowd, I supposed.

I stared at him for a second, waiting for him to laugh. Waiting for somebody to laugh and tell me this was all a big joke.

Nobody laughed.

Everybody stared quietly, expressionlessly at me, waiting for my final word. I scowled over at Mildew, reminding myself that the old man was always trying to stir stuff up and that there was no reason to believe him. "That's not funny, Mildew," I snapped.

"Good," he replied. "Because it's no joke, Stoick."

"Hiccup?" I turned to the red-haired boy on my other side, determined not to believe a word Mildew said until Hiccup proved or disproved it.

There was a short silence in which I held my breath.

"I'm sorry," Hiccup whispered brokenly, still studying the grass as if it held all the answers. "I meant to tell you before..."

He was joking. He had to be. I knew that the boy was many things, but there was no way he could be...just no way...

He stared at the ground. I stared at him. The village looked at me.

"I...I meant to tell you," he whispered in a quivering voice, one I was sure he was using to hide tears. "I just...I just never got around to it-"

"Oh, yeah?" I couldn't bear to hear his chatter anymore. Every word he said was like a knife, cutting me all over. His words were sharpened knives. How could I have ever believed him? He had made a fool out of me. He couldn't be an Outcast...but he was.

I drew in a rattling breath, trying to think straight. "When did you plan to tell us, Hiccup? A month? Two? When were you going to be done taking advantage of us?"

Hiccup shuddered again, doing the odd, tensing jerk of the shoulders, like he expected a blow on the back of the head. "I...I wasn't taking advantage," he mumbled. "I swear, I wasn't. I...I was only..."

"Only what?" I whispered when he didn't finish.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he quivered.

My heart tore the second I heard the simple word; I was a Viking and a word should not have so much power over me.

How could he have done this to me, to any of us? Was he really that kind of person, the kind to take advantage of other people's kindness? Or was he being honest? Had he honestly intended to tell me he was an Outcast? How exactly do you explain that?

Dad. Dad. Dad. Dad. The word echoed in my brain, refusing to be silenced. How dare this boy call me dad. How dare he act like I am his father. How dare he act like I am a father figure to him.

Clearly, I'm nothing to him.

"Don't." My voice was trembling when I first managed to spit out the word, but I hastily tried to correct it. "Don't you ever call me that again. I am not your father...and you..."

He met my eyes for just a second, before quickly dropping his gaze back to the ground, hands clenched into fists.

"You're not my son."

He gasped slightly, like the words had physically hurt him. "I..."

"Shut up," I snarled at him. I should've felt pleasure at his fearful, obedient nod but all I felt was disgusted - with him and with myself. How could we have gone from talking and laughing together, to me tucking him in for the love of Odin, to...this?

"Get the hell off my island, Hiccup. You are no longer welcome here. Berk is no longer your refuge."

He gave a shaky nod, turning in the direction of the forge.

"Wait a second, Stoick," Mildew butted in. "I thought we sent Outcasts off the island."

"Are you deaf?" I snapped harshly at him, feeling rage pulsating through my veins. It felt extraordinarily good to be able to use it on somebody else, because it hurt too much to think of Hiccup long enough to get angry with him. "I am sending him off the island!"

"I thought we did it...differently," Mildew argued, a sinister emphasis on 'differently'.

I closed my eyes against his harsh words. I couldn't think. I couldn't do this. For all the times my father had prepared me for trying situations, he had never prepared me for this.

The crowd whispered among themselves for several long moments.

"Yes, do it, Stoick!" Called a man from the crowd.

The other Vikings roared their approval.

"Fine!" I snapped at them. "Hold him down!"

The boy gave a scream then, a scream of a shattered and broken heart losing the only thing he really had left to care about; the sound of pure terror.

I tried to block it out as I unsheathed my sword, hearing myself scream at me that this was beyond inhuman. But I had been pushed too far beyond inhuman in the last five seconds to care. I stood over Hiccup, looking down at him, different thoughts flying through my head. I wondered what his last thought would be.

My grip on my sword was slippery with sweat. I stared at him, wondering how a wolf could look so innocent in sheep's clothing.

'How could you?' I asked him silently. 'Tell me, how could you?!'

I raised the sword, determined to do it...drawing ever closer...he was right underneath me, now...all I had to do was plunge the sword in his chest and…

My mind shut down, refusing to let me imagine the boy's blood on my hands.

Hoark leaned over and shakily rolled up Hiccup's sleeve. Pale skin broken by rough and jagged scars stared back at me. My sword was shaking in my hand. I knelt down next to him, not sure if I would ever be able to forgive myself for what I was doing.

I plunged the very tip of the sword into his skin. I heard him give a gasp, but I ignored it. I couldn't think about him. I couldn't think at all.

I went slowly, letter by letter, wondering if I'd ever be able to think again after doing this.

_T._

Would I one day close my eyes and see his laughing face behind my lids?

_R._

Or would I remember him this way forever, frozen in fear and horror?

_A._

Horror for me.

_I. _

Fear of me.

_T._

He was afraid of me.

_O._

I never wanted him to be afraid of me.

_R._

I slowly pulled the sword away from his arm. He lifted his head shakily, trying to get a glimpse, but Spitelout shoved his head roughly back down onto the grass. A part of me was ready to snap at my brother not to hurt him, but I kept silent.

I approached him slowly, raising my sword, determined not to meet his eye. If I did, would I see fear there? Would there be contempt?

"Please." He whispered shakily.

You Outcasts are all the same, I thought angrily at him. Always thinking begging can get you out of it.' Well, it couldn't. Not this time. This was beyond dirty, the trick he had pulled on us, the trick he had been pulling on us since midsummer.

"You really think begging is going to get you anywhere?" I demanded coldly of him.

"Look after him," he pleaded. "Look after Toothless. You know him, he trusts you...you know he's not bad, Stoick." His small voice trembled on my name and suddenly I felt as inhuman as the voice in my head screamed at me that I was.

How could I hurt a child? And not just any child...but one who looked so much like Val...

My sword dangled dangerously near the ground. His selflessness hit me hard. He was even like Val in that sense, in the bright bravery and selflessness she had always had. How could I hurt a child who was spending his last few minutes begging for someone else?

"You're begging me to protect him," I whispered, almost unable to comprehend it. "I...you..."

His green eyes turned suddenly hopeful and I felt furious with myself. I would lock the Night Fury in the deepest dungeon and let him rot without a rider, for all I cared. Hell, I could've killed that thing with my bare hands.

My anger burned fiercely. This boy had won my pity, my affection and my love far too many times. He did not deserve it anymore. "An inch away from death," I spat, "and all you can think of is-"

"Toothless." He interrupted. "Please."

Didn't he know how hard he was making this for me? I couldn't do this. I couldn't do this. Didn't he know that it was taking every ounce of my self-control to stand here with my sword?

I wanted to do that - yet I knew I couldn't.

I had to be strong.

I clenched my jaw and raised my shaking sword, determined to kill him, to watch him bleed out.

And then he flinched. I'm sure he wasn't aware he did it, but he did. Hr flinched, ducking his head, the last of his strength leaving him.

And the last of my resolve left me. I couldn't do it. My sword slipped from my hand just as I heard a great roar from somewhere nearby. I looked around, unsure what it had been, before spotting Toothless rushing from the forge, green eyes alight with panic.

He charged over to Hiccup, shooting flames at his attackers, grabbing Hiccup with his teeth and tossing him up on his back and riding away with him, as far and fast as he could.

I should've been angry. But I looked at the sky, all lit up with stars, and I could not be anything but grateful to Thor, for saving the boy and for saving my last shred of humanity, my last shred of sanity.


	2. The Real Decision

Untold

Chapter 2: The Real Decision

Summary: I knew I recognized him when he came...

**A/N: So, one of my reviewers saved my butt by suggesting this and a couple other things to write about :D I didn't have any other ideas, but she began suggesting things and :D this was born.**

**It was originally supposed to be Stoick's POV of finding out Hiccup is his son, but the main plot point of that kind of got crushed in all the excitement :D I honestly don't know what happened, although I tried to keep Alvin's words at the forefront of Stoick's mind the best I could, as I don't know how somebody could be all like, 'oh, lolz, apparently I have a son' and forget two seconds later.**

**Like I said, I'm pretty terrible with action and threatening villains and everything, so this chapter isn't as good as the last.**

**Well, okay, I did okay with Alvin in SSB and TBLTWYLM, but that's because that's Hiccup's POV and in my AU Alvin scares the bejeebies out of Hiccup.**

* * *

Alvin found me sitting in my house, struggling to remember what to do. I was trying not to think about last night. I was trying not to think about anything.

Gobber was sitting in the chair opposite me, nervously fiddling with his prosthetic hand, like he had something important to say but was refusing to say it.

The first words out of Alvin's mouth surprised me. He looked me up and down, like he thought maybe I was trying to hide something. "Well?" he snapped. "Where is he?"

"Where's who?" I demanded, rising from my chair and taking a step towards him. And meanwhile, I was also struggling with the thought of how the hell he got in here. The snow, I realized. The snow on Berk always blocked approaching ships from view in wintertime.

"You know where he is, Stoick," Alvin sneered. "He's been on your island for months."

A sick feeling overcame me and I had a nasty idea that I knew who he was talking about, but I played dumb. "There are a lot of people who have been on my island for months."

Alvin gave a frustrated grunt. "You know who I'm looking for, Stoick. I'm looking for your boy."

My brow knitted and suddenly my mind shot, not to Hiccup, but to the little stillborn all those years ago. I was about to politely tell him thanks, but I didn't exactly have a son, but he spotted my confusion and a mocking grin curled his lips upward.

"Oh. Wait. You didn't figure it out yet?"

"Didn't figure what out?" I asked cautiously. I could almost sense Gobber getting ready to charge, even without a weapon, but I wasn't thinking right then; I was locked in Alvin's words.

"Well, if you haven't, I don't want to ruin the surprise," Alvin shrugged, but his eyes sparkled with malice.

"What are you talking about?" I took several quick steps forward, until I was closer to Alvin than I was to Gobber. "What do you mean, I haven't figured it out?"

"It's alright," Alvin said with mock gentleness. "I understand. A total stranger washes up on your island, you don't expect it to be your son."

The words hit me like a sledgehammer and a thousand thoughts ran through my head.

_Wait. Is he talking about Hiccup?_

No. He couldn't be. Hiccup was an Outcast.

I knew it. He looked too much like Val to not be…

No. He was an Outcast.

_He looks like her. It's the only explanation._

No.

_You know you recognized him when he came. You recognized him, and it hurt you to do so. You knew who he was. Why are you trying to hide from it?_

Although I had, at first, not wanted to believe that Hiccup was an Outcast, I now found myself running firstly to that excuse for defense. If he really was my son, then…

My mind jumped again to the stillborn. But…no. That was too far-fetched. My son was dead. I didn't have one.

_Yes, you do._

"You lie, Alvin," I accused him, already reaching for my sword. The hilt was comforting and cool in my hands, reminding me I had a way to defend myself if need be.

Alvin smirked. "Well, I don't suppose it really matters if you know or not, because he's my property, now. Which reminds me, you haven't been very compliant today, so…" he let his voice trail off. "I'm afraid that I'm going to have to take Hiccup by force if you don't hand him over."

His hand drifted casually towards his own sword.

"He's not here," I snarled at him.

He raised his eyebrows disbelievingly.

If there had still been a door, it would have flown open when Savage, his second-in-command, came pelting into the house, panting for breath, but Alvin had kicked it off its hinges when he'd entered.

_Was he my son?_

"Sir," Savage panted, "there's no sign of the boy anywhere."

"Well…" Alvin turned back to me, running a finger down his chin, like he was thinking. He smoothed down his tangled beard. "If you're telling the truth and he's not here…" he pulled out his sword and pointed it directly at me. "Where is he?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Savage slipping out of the room, obviously following an unspoken order of Alvin's.

Was the boy really my son?

"I don't know," I replied honestly.

"Did you see him leave?"

"Yes."

"Which direction was he going?"

"I couldn't tell. He was on his Night Fury."

"Your life and the lives of your village are hanging on your answers, Stoick. So if I were you, I'd give me some clearer answers."

"I can't tell you anything more," I told him and I was being completely truthful. Hiccup could be anywhere in the Archipelago for all I knew right now.

"He didn't tell you anything?" Alvin demanded. "Nothing about where he was going, anything?"

And still, burning in the back of my mind, pulsated the thoughts that maybe Hiccup really was my son, or maybe not. Maybe Alvin was just playing with me. Or it could be a double bluff; he probably figured I wouldn't take his words seriously, so he trusted that I'd never believe him and that I'd willingly hand my son – or Hiccup – over to him without batting an eye.

"No." I told him.

"He was here!" Alvin snapped. "He was here, just days ago! Why did he leave?"

Did Alvin know…how could Alvin have known…?

Was he really my son? Was he really my son?

I had to lie. I knew I had to lie.

_He couldn't be. He couldn't be._

"Did you kick him out?" Alvin rasped. "You didn't know he was an Outcast, did you? You kicked him out, didn't you?"

I struggled to find a better answer, one that wouldn't give everything away.

"Only the strong can belong," Alvin repeated slowly, a smile curling his face. "Thank you for your help, Stoick. I think we can find the boy from here. You won't mind me taking him off your hands, will you?"

_He was an Outcast. _

I tried to speak, but I was frozen. I'd always known Alvin was clever – I just never knew how telling silence could be.

And the worst part was, I was no longer sure who the enemy was – Alvin, Hiccup…?

Should I be afraid for Hiccup, or glad that he was going back to Outcast Island, the way he probably wanted to?

But what if he was my son?

An Outcast appeared at Alvin's side, panting and gasping for breath, just like Savage had. "Chief," he rasped breathlessly, "Chief, he's here."

"What?" Alvin's attention was momentarily diverted.

"He just flew in," the Outcast replied. "He just suddenly…appeared."

Alvin considered for a long moment. I reached for my sword.

"Right." Alvin nodded. "You watch these two. No, wait – on second thought, bring them out, along with us."

The Outcast nodded, turning to us with a nervous air. I dropped my hand, not wanting the Outcast to alert Alvin.

The Outcast turned back around and led us out into the middle of the village, where Alvin had us all drop our weapons as we got nearer.

"I don't want any funny business, you see," he smiled.

I heard voices as we drew nearer and nearer to where the Outcast was leading us.

"…telling your friends to loosen their grip a little?"

I rounded the corner just behind the Outcast and saw Hiccup standing there, glaring at the Outcasts that were holding the Jorgenson boy, the Thorston twins, the Hofferson girl and the Ingerman teen by their hair.

Alvin slowly stepped in front of Hiccup, a smile lighting up his face. I saw Hiccup go rigid, but I brushed it off as my imagination.

"Hello, Hiccup," Alvin whispered, bending down next to him and running a finger down his chin. "Long time, no see."

Was he really my son? I wondered, pain exploding in my heart at the sight of him. I clenched my jaw and tried to push it back, but the constant worry that Alvin was lying wouldn't leave me alone.

Hiccup flinched away from the man's touch and something about the reaction brought me pain, although I didn't know why – the pain of betrayal and shame and love, all at the same time. When I'd stood over him with the sword, he'd flinched away from me, too, in that exact same way.

"Now, Hiccup," Alvin whispered, "you happen to be the exact person I came here for."

And I made my decision then: Hiccup was an Outcast through and through and I was going to forget this nonsense about him being my son.

"I thought I might be," he replied in a casual sort of way, but I saw him and I saw his hands were shaking slightly, the only outward sign of fear he gave.

My resolve weakened slightly at hearing him, at seeing him, at seeing the boy trying so hard to hide his fear. Fear of what? I wondered, my thoughts going back to Alvin. What was he so afraid of? He was part of Alvin's tribe. Why would the man hurt him?

"But I mean, c'mon, Alvin, a full-scale invasion? Just for me? I'm flattered, really. I didn't think I'd mean quite that much to you." Despite the quiver in his voice, he managed to give an arrogant smirk.

I saw Alvin grinding his teeth and felt two things at once: a flash of pride for Hiccup, for hiding his fear so well and masking it by mocking his enemy and a bolt of fear for him.

I made my real decision then and I whispered a quick prayer to Odin to keep the boy safe.


	3. I Can Hear You

Untold

_Chapter 3: I Can Hear You_

Summary: "Can you hear me?" I whispered frantically, pausing as I held my breath.

"I can hear you."

**A/N: So, though I rarely do requests, I answered the request of FirenzeFox. I hope I made it as good as he/she wanted it to be, but I'm not so sure I did. I was actually planning on starting an arc, and the request pushed it back a little, but I knew the 'I Can Hear You' scene would take less time than the arc. **

* * *

Hiccup disappeared in the frenzy of battle for several long minutes, but when I saw him again, I swear my heart stopped. I saw him as a limp figure in the grass and, worried, I strode over to make sure he was alright. I knew it was a bad idea to turn my back on the battle, but I had to see.

I scrambled over to Hiccup and that was when my heart skipped a few beats. There he was, lying on the ground, his leg bleeding horribly. An Outcast leaned over him, holding a shining axe, cutting through his pants leg.

"Get away from him!" I bellowed, because it was the only thing I could do.

The Outcast barely had time to look up before I barreled forward. I didn't have time to draw my sword, but that didn't matter – the swift punch to the jaw was enough to derail him for a few moments.

I drew my sword, just in case he got back up, but it appeared that my fist and his impact with the ground had knocked him out. My sword clattered to the ground, forgotten and I knelt down next to Hiccup.

"Hiccup?" I whispered. My voice came out shaky and I tried to steady it. "Hiccup, are you all right? Can you hear me?"

His answer was a low groan.

I took a deep breath, unsure if it was relief or fear coursing through me.

His eyes opened slowly, just an inch or so and he locked gazes with me for a second before letting them shut again.

I picked him up carefully – even if he was still conscious, he was in no state to defend himself. He could easily get trampled or stolen away by Alvin once more without anybody watching him. I held him close, feeling an icy numbness spreading through one arm, the arm that supported his head; melted snow was dripping off of his hair onto my arm.

I smoothed down his wet hair and felt his blood dripping onto my other arm. I inhaled sharply when I realized how limp he had gone in my arms. "Oh, son," I whispered, "can you hear me?"

He groaned and mumbled something unintelligible.

I blinked and found my eyes were wet with tears as I pressed my ear to his heart. And there I heard a weak, barely there heartbeat – he was hanging on, but without medical attention, he would soon bleed out.

I had to get him out of here and get him healed and soon.

I glanced down at the angry red blood still pouring from his leg and felt a kind of panic seize me – his leg looked too mangled and bloody to keep.

"I can hear you," he whispered weakly. I smiled slightly down at him, the worry wiped carelessly away for a few seconds. He could hear me. That was all that mattered.

"Oh, Hiccup," I breathed and I hugged him tightly.

A voice pulled me out of our embrace. "You can't hide him forever, you know."

I looked unwillingly up to see Alvin, his eyes flicking over Hiccup in a hungry, greedy way – a way that made me tighten my grip on him just slightly. It was like Alvin was seeing Hiccup in another light than I did – like he liked the sight of Hiccup's blood.

"I'm coming to find him. I always get him back in the end, Stoick. He's mine, you know."

I felt Hiccup tense slightly in my arms and I suddenly understood what it meant to feel protective of somebody, loving them like they were your own flesh and blood whether they were or not, feeling like you would go down fighting, if only to defend them, to give them a few more minutes.

My grip on him tightened again. I was never letting Alvin touch this boy again.

I opened my mouth to speak, but it wasn't my voice that made the sound. It came out as a mere whisper, but I heard it.

"I'm not yours, Alvin." The attempt at bravery in his voice melted something inside me. He was trying to act unafraid. I knew the truth from his rigid posture; I knew he was scared.

"You can't fight with him," Alvin continued, completely ignoring Hiccup, his eyes glittering with malice. "You know that, don't you?"

"You're beaten, Alvin," I told him simply, although I wanted nothing more than to race away from the battle and just hold Hiccup close, hold him close and take away all his pain, because I could feel him stirring gently in my arms, clutching weakly at his leg. I wanted nothing more than to make sure he was okay, but my grip tightened on him. _A chief is a leader first and a man second. _"Go from this place now."

Alvin opened his mouth, looking like he thought he had anything to say to that, but I interrupted him before he could speak. "A good chief knows when he is leading his men into a suicide mission." _Yet another thing that makes you an unworthy chief. _"I'm afraid if you attempt to fight us again, your tribe's numbers will be depleted massively."

Alvin growled something under his breath.

"The Hooligan tribe does not believe in keeping slaves," I continued, trying to be quiet but firm. "But you will find you and your men working for us if you don't leave right now, in peace."

I could feel Hiccup starting to turn over in my arms, pushing against me. I pushed him back down slowly and he went still.

Alvin chewed his lip angrily and raised a fist. Instantly, an axe came out of the crowd of my tribe, sinking deep into a post just behind him. He turned and saw the blade just an inch from his nose; it was too accurate a shot.

Alvin growled softly. "Set my men free," he said in a quiet voice.

"Done," I whispered, beckoning to my tribe. A few Hooligans gathered around me, taking out their weapons. They followed Alvin back to his boats and waited until he had climbed in to release the weaponless members of his tribe. They glared venomously at the Hooligans as they scrambled offshore, onto Alvin's boats.

As I watched them sail across the water, turned black from midnight, I turned to the bleeding and barely conscious boy in my arms.


	4. Waiting Part 1

Untold

Chapter 4 - Waiting Part 1

Summary: "He should be alright," Gobber whispered, "but…that leg has got to come off."

**A/N: This is basically an arc. So, yeah :D you might get part 2 soon, maybe not, I don't know. I was really bored tonight and I didn't want to work on Gift or Curse? because...I guess I was just in a TBLTWYLM kinda mood tonight xP **

* * *

Hiccup's blood dripped down onto my shirt as I staggered in the door, clutching him to me. I looked around the tiny room and I realized there was nowhere to put him. The instant I thought this, Gobber appeared, leading a trail of villagers, all curiously trying to get a glimpse of the boy in my arms.

I hugged him closer to me, trying to block their view. They shouldn't see him like this. I glanced up at Gobber, who was staring vacantly at Hiccup, chewing his lower lip in thought.

"What are we going to do?" one of the women whispered, staring fearfully at Hiccup. I brought my arm up to his head and gently smoothed down his hair. Even in his unconscious state, he moved closer to my touch.

I was asking myself the same question, but I remembered that a chief feels no pain and shows no fear. "There's a spare bedroom," I managed. "Go up there…and get the bed…"

Gobber nodded. There was a second of silence.

"WELL?!" Gobber bellowed. "WHAT ARE WE ALL STANDING AROUND FOR, THEN? COME UP AND HELP ME!"

Gobber and Hoark dashed upstairs and I tightened my hold on Hiccup. I knew I should have been up there helping them, but I didn't want to let Hiccup go, not for one second.

Gobber reemerged, carrying one side of the bed and Hoark did, too, carrying the other side. "Alright," Gobber groaned, setting it down. He wheezed slightly and stretched his back as he and Hoark stepped away from it.

I didn't want to let him go. I met Gobber's eyes as I slowly set him down on the bed, smoothing out his hair, taking my hands slowly out from under him and turning my attention to his leg.

"Alright," I whispered. "We're gonna need the healer."

I squeezed Hiccup's hand.

"I'll go," Helga volunteered quietly; she hadn't spoken since she'd walked in the house. She crossed the room and pushed the door open slowly. "I'll be back." she seemed quiet, serious – so unlike her usual cheerful self.

Gobber turned back to Hiccup, worry etched into every line of his face. "Stoick," he whispered as I knelt beside the bed, "I…don't think the healer can help us."

I didn't ask him what he meant; I thought I already knew. I wondered if fate could really be so cruel as to take the boy away from me before I ever really knew him. Would fate steal him from me before I even got to make things right, or tell him he was my son? I rubbed soothing circles on the back of Hiccup's hand with my thumb. I'd seen him pull through before. He could do it again, couldn't he?

The door flew open then and Helga stormed in, leading Gothi, the village healer. Gothi held her staff tight as she limped slowly over to where Hiccup lay, refusing all offers of help. When she finally made it over there, she looked down at him for a long second before taking her staff and banging it once upon the ground.

The bright, clear sound of her staff hitting the floor rang in my ears and for some reason I had a feeling that that was a bad sign.

Gobber's face tightened. "I thought that might be it."

"What might be it?" I bolted up from my kneeling position frantically.

"Stoick…" Gobber raised a tired face to mine. Before speaking, however, he turned to the other villagers. "Go home," he encouraged. "Go home and rest. This won't be the last time Alvin attacks. And next time, we should be prepared. Go rest. All of you," he added sharply, for a few people seemed willing to linger.

Hoark muttered his way out the door and Helga cast a worried look at Hiccup before walking out, too. When the door had at last slammed shut on the last one, I knew then that Gobber had done that for me. That he had done that in case the healer's news broke me.

I stared at Hiccup hopelessly.

"He should be alright," Gobber whispered, "but…that leg has got to come off."

"What?" The word fell from my lips effortlessly, but afterward, every breath seemed hard. How could this be happening? This wasn't fair! I pressed my lips together at the injustice of it all and to keep myself from yelling. Why did this have to happen? He had been through hell and back these past few weeks and I bet the last thing he expected was to wake up with only half a left leg.

Why did Alvin have to take something else from him? Why did he have to take anything from Hiccup at all?

I remembered the way Savage had held Hiccup by the hair, sword at his throat and the way Alvin had sneered at him and taunted him, like he wasn't…like he wasn't even there. Like he was less than, somehow.

"Stoick." Gobber's voice was gentle. "It's the only choice he has."

I considered the wisdom of choosing to do this to say yes and not just to the prosthetic. I would be saying yes, welcoming him to a home on Berk, offering him a family and a home with me, apologizing for all the ways I had wronged him last night…

If I hadn't questioned whether or not it was wise to put my whole island at risk for a boy, I would have been a terrible chief. But, if I hadn't questioned whether or not I could live with myself without at least trying to make things right with him, I wouldn't have been a father.

"Alright." I whispered.


	5. Waiting Part 2

Untold

Chapter 5 - Waiting Part 2

Summary: The continuation of the 'Waiting' arc.

**A/N: So, this is an untold part of To Be Loved the Way You Love Me, as Hiccup never remembered this later on (and even if he did, I'm lazy as heck).**

* * *

You'd never look at Gothi and think she could still impressively wield an axe, but the hilt remained strong and steady in her arms as she approached Hiccup. I couldn't watch. I couldn't watch her do this. I wanted to hide my face, but I knew I had to be strong. I squeezed Hiccup's hand slightly. I hoped it wouldn't hurt him.

Gobber looked a hundred years old as he watched the village healer slowly approach Hiccup, the axe raising high, high in the air, and coming back down again, beginning to finish the job the Outcasts had started. I could feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I watched Hiccup's expressionless face gain a slightly pained frown; the day had been too long for all of us and the sight of my boy in pain was just the icing on the cake.

I tried to push the tears back.

Hiccup stayed still and quiet for several long moments and I began to hope that he wouldn't wake at all.

"My leg," he mumbled softly. "My leg."

He reached downward, feeling around for the stump and I could hear the whimper of pain in his voice.

I walked forward, trying to smooth down his hair, to soothe him, but he refused to be soothed. "My leg," he protested quietly, but a little louder than before. "M-my leg."

"I know." I whispered.

He groaned. "It hurts."

"I know."

"Make it go away. I'm too tired to deal with this."

"It's only gonna hurt for a little longer," I promised him quietly. "Just lie still and quiet until it can be done."

"It _hurts_."

"You have to lie still." I instructed him softly.

"My leg feels like it's on fire," he informed me, blinking open large, sleepy green eyes. He didn't flinch away from me or show any sign that I had hurt him, so I assumed he wasn't completely in his head. "How can I be expected to lie—

_Swish._

He screamed and sat straight up, reaching for his leg and screaming still, maybe words or maybe nonsense, I don't know.

"Stoick, get him back down!" Gobber cried angrily. "Gothi could've hurt him!"

'Like she's not already?' I wanted to ask, but I bit my tongue as I gently placed a hand on Hiccup's shoulder, removing his hands from his leg. "Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup, it's okay…"

"It hurts," he whispered, his voice breaking like a child's. I could feel sobs catching in my own throat when I heard them in his.

I took his hand, letting it rest in mine. "Squeeze my hand when it starts to hurt," I whispered.

His small hand was shaking in mine.

"You have to lay back down," I told him gently, swiping a few strands of hair off his forehead; his head was sweaty and hot. "Otherwise we can't make you well again."

"Don't let them hurt me." he squeezed my hand. "Don't let them, okay?"

"No, never," I whispered, easing him back down onto the bed. "You're going to be alright."

"Is it gonna hurt?"

"Maybe," I admitted. "But I'm right here."


	6. Waiting Part 3

Untold

Chapter 6 - Waiting Part 3

Summary: A conclusion to 'Waiting'.

**A/N: Well, here's the last part in the 'Waiting' arc. Next chapter will be chapter 39 from Stoick's POV. I also have plot bunnies from Starlight Star Bright that I desperately want to use, so I'm gonna have to wrap up the 'TBLTWYLM from Stoick's POV' thing soon. Ok? **

* * *

_Begging me to stop, with tears coursing down his cheeks. He screamed at me that his leg was on fire._

_I looked down and flames were shooting up the leg of his pants while Gobber raised an axe above his head..._

_I rushed to Hiccup's defense, trying to stop Gobber, who somehow morphed into Alvin halfway through._

_"What are you doing, Stoick?" Alvin snarled at me. _

_"Leave him alone," I was breathing fast, but the tremble in my voice was from rage, not fear. _

_"I'm surprised at you," Alvin smirked. "I'm only finishing your work." He gestured to my hands and then the boy on the ground and, in a frenzy of horror, I realized my hands were stained with blood and the sword hilt that protruded from his chest was mine._

_I gasped with the shock of it, backing away a couple of steps. "No." _

_"Yes," Alvin confirmed tragically. "It's all your fault!" And then he charged forward with the axe again and I found I did not have the strength to stop him._

_I saw a crowd of villagers Outcasts and Hooligans alike, all shouting seemingly random things to Alvin at the top of their lungs. _

_I looked down at Hiccup worriedly, seeing his leg bleeding fiercely, the boy's cold fingers clutching weakly at his injured stump. _

_Hiccup looked up at me with tears streaming down his cheeks. "HOW COULD YOU?!" _

I awoke with a start and glanced around the room, taking a deep breath. Hiccup was in bed, safe, calm, asleep. I gently smoothed down his hair. It had been hours since his leg had come off. He was sound asleep now, but I didn't think I would ever forget having to hold him down while he screamed himself hoarse…

I hadn't wanted to. I had never wanted to. The last thing I wanted to do was stand by while somebody else caused him pain – but I knew it had to be done.

I brushed his hair back from his eyes, looking down at his pale, freckled face. This face had become so familiar to me these last few weeks – always smiling, laughing, or talking animatedly about dragons and things, things he was educated about and I was not. I grew used to seeing him across from me at my table and in the forge whenever I visited. He had looked so much like Val it hurt – I had tried to be harsh with him for a few weeks, to hide how drawn I was to him, how fascinated I was by the idea that this boy could be a shard of my wife.

I glanced down and spotted a few scars peeking out from underneath his sleeve; it must've gotten rolled up while we were amputating his leg.

I had seen these scars before, when I'd rolled up his sleeve, when I'd cut his arm…my mind instantly recoiled from that, not allowing me to go any farther. I knew if I did, the guilt would destroy me.

And sure enough, the scar that was freshest, still scabbing over, still in the act of scarring, was the word 'traitor' spelled out in Norse runes. I felt suddenly sick as I realized my scar wasn't even going to stick out to him. It was all the same to him. I was just one more person who had hurt him…but unlike the others who had, I thought to myself as I studied his scars, oddly fascinated by them, I hadn't enjoyed one second of it. It didn't make me any better of a person than the other people, but those seemed to have enjoyed it; the greedy pleasure spoke clearly just from the old, already healed wounds.

I wondered if the wounds would ever heal, if, when he grew older, they'd eventually grow so faded and healed, nobody could ever tell they'd ever been there. I desperately wanted that to be true. I didn't want to have him walk around with the brand of a traitor forever. I ran my thumb across the scar, tracing the letters with my thumb, wondering what Hiccup would say or do or think when he woke up. Wondering if he'd give me a chance to apologize or not.

He had to at least give me that. I had to tell him how sorry I was. Even if he never wanted to see me again, he had to at least let me apologize. I had wronged him so terribly, but didn't I at least deserve a chance to make things right?

No, I admitted to myself wearily. No, I probably didn't.

I glanced down at the scars again, feeling a scowl twist my face. I had wronged him, yes, I had been terrible. I had failed him so much. I was failing as a father and falling apart as a chief. I desperately wanted to make things right, but I didn't even know what "right" was anymore. The only thing I knew was that I hoped that that scar was the only one he ever got from me.


	7. Forgiven

Untold

Chapter 7 - Forgiven

Summary: Chapter 39 from Stoick's POV.

**A/N: So named because I could just hear 'Forgiven' by Within Temptation playing in the background. What do you guys think? :D**

**Also, I'm thinking I might just do away with this whole story and keep the content for a TBLTWYLM thing from Stoick's POV. Just...the entire story. From Stoick's POV. What do you think? Well, I could, but then I'd have to write *hiss* action! Also seeing as chapter one was my very first venture into Stoick's mind, I don't know how good I'd be at it and how in-character I would keep him. **

* * *

The house had been quiet for weeks. I wasn't even afraid of waking Hiccup anymore, because it was clear he was sleeping like the dead.

I flung open the door and walked inside, my eyes meeting an odd scene: Hiccup was sprawled out in front of Toothless on the floor, one hand weakly massaging his leg. He was glaring at Toothless, the other arm trying madly to push against the dragon. Hiccup saw me and a kind of gasp ripped its way out of his mouth.

He tried to stand, but he only ended up staggering backward, whimpering at the pain in his leg. I crossed the room easily in two strides, putting one hand on his chest, helped along by Toothless. I threw the dragon a grateful look. He hadn't exactly been my biggest fan since everything that had gone down with Hiccup, but ever since I had very calmly told him I had no wish to harm Hiccup, and proved it to him by many long nights at Hiccup's bedside, he had been milder.

"Easy, son." I turned my attention to the injured boy on the bed. I smoothed down his hair with one hand, using the other to gently coax him back on the bed. "You've been through a lot and you need rest."

"Uh..." he groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering sleepily. I had to admire his stubbornness - he wasn't going down without a fight. As horrible as I knew it was, to be smiling while he was pained and confused, a sort of proud smile flashed across my face.

"Shh, shh." I coaxed gently. "Go back to sleep."

"No!" Every movement must've been hard; he moved slowly and tiredly as he ripped off the blanket and threw it off his legs. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, frantically trying to push himself up. His hands were shaking with the effort it took to support his weight and I put a hand over his tiny, trembling one. He wasn't completely in his head, I reminded myself. I just needed to be gentle.

"Easy." I repeated quietly.

"Uh-uh." He shook his head, but allowed me to lay him back down on the bed.

"Hiccup, you're alright." I whispered. Wrong. He'd lost half a leg. How could he ever be okay?

He muttered something barely audible and I had to ask him to repeat himself.

"Toothless." He lifted pleading green eyes to me. "Will you look after him? Please?"

"We have been," I assured him. "What, you think just because you've been asleep for a few days means we're gonna let him starve?"

"Days?" He looked so forlorn, I instantly regretted telling him. "Then..." he mumbled; his eyebrows drew together ad he absently studied the bed, tracing a finger over the top. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why...?" He couldn't seem to find the words. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and he was breathing heavily.

There was a long silence, so long I assumed he had fallen asleep. His head was bent down, I couldn't see his face, but it made sense; he had been fighting to stay awake ever since he opened his eyes.

"Hiccup..." I began, sure my voice was going to break. I reached out a shaking hand for Hiccup's. He stared at my hand, glanced up at Toothless and then let me take his hand.

"Hiccup-" I tried again, but he pulled his hand away before I could finish. Of course.'I let my hand drop. He didn't trust me. Who would, after the kind of hell I had put him through?

I felt my heart squeeze. I wanted him to trust me. I needed him to know I was sorry. "Hiccup," I whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Oh." He stared at his feet. There was a second of silence, and then he spoke again, in a shaking voice. "W-why?"

"For..." I couldn't' look him in the eye when I replied; how could I have hurt this boy, this innocent little child? "For...what I said...what I did..."

"No," he interrupted before I could finish, although I had nothing to say. "I mean, why? Why are you sorry for everything?"

"Because...because I almost killed you," I said, and this time I looked him right in the eye. His expression told me I was despicable and I was. I deserved to feel that way. "I almost lost you. I almost lost my son." My words came out so quietly, I was sire he hadn't heard.

I slowly, tentatively reached out, wrapping him in a hug. All I wanted to do was hold him, be near to him, take all his pain away. "I hope you can forgive me, son." I whispered.

He pushed against me, staring me down with suspicion in his gaze. "Why? Why do you keep saying that? You call me son. I'm not your son."

"But you are." I told him quietly. I waited for him to nod and say, ah, yes, yes of course. But his response was one that made me want to laugh and say, oh, never mind, just a dream.

"You said I wasn't."

The guilt rushed through me, threatening to crush me under its weight. "I'm sorry."

"You branded me," he whispered; his breathing was becoming shallow and quick, and I wondered worriedly whether he was having a panic attack.

"You branded me a traitor and you told me I wasn't your son." He didn't sound hurt; just angry and guarded. Had I surprised him at all with my actions, or had he been expecting this from day one?

"Will you please just tell me why you're acting like nothing's changed?" The panic attack breathing was growing louder as he neared the end of his sentence, looking up at me and awaiting my reply.

"It has." I nodded, resting a hand on his cheek. I tried not to be hurt when he drew away. "And I am so sorry with what I put you through." The apology was going to be easiest; I truly was sorry, but I wasn't sure how much to tell him anymore. Gobber had insisted I owed him an explanation, at the very least, and I couldn't argue with that. "But you are my son."

"No, I'm not," he insisted, conviction clear in his voice. "Alvin-

I put a finger on his lips. I understood why he wanted to speak, but I had to say this.

"Told me that you are mine."

"What?" He demanded drowsily, brow knitting.

"My son." I said again. "He called you your boy. And before that, he said you were my son. Later, he made a few vague hints that he was telling the truth, but you wouldn't have heard that. You were unconscious then."

"I was?" By the way his eyes widened, you would've thought I had just shared a national secret with him. His eyes narrowed again, brow knitting, lips pinching. I recognized it as the face he made when he was thinking.

As the film of memory passed over his eyes for a brief moment, I found myself wondering if he would remember anything from the battle...or after.

I hesitated. I had never been speechless before, I had never not known what to say. Funny how only he was able to render me this way.

He came back to earth suddenly, his narrowed green eyes going back to their familiar almond shape. "But, I mean, I still have to leave."

"Why?" The word slipped out before I could remind myself that he didn't have to explain anything to me.

"I'm an Outcast." He said. "You don't want an Outcast on your shores do you?"

Technically, he was a Hooligan and I thought about telling him as much before I realized he still looked a little confused, a little wrong-footed. It wasn't the best idea to bombard him with facts so soon after he had woken. He needed rest.

"You're the exception," I decided instead, resting a hand on his shoulder.

"Only because I'm your son." His face lost the confused look, transforming suddenly to something like bitterness. "And, for that matter, I don't care that I'm your blood son." He shrugged my hand off his shoulder.

I let my hand drop back into my lap. That stung. A lot.

"Just because I am, it makes it okay for me to stay on Berk?" His hands were clenched into fists, his teeth gritted. "What about if you found out one of the other Outcasts was your blood son? That would make it okay for them, too?" He stared me down, waiting for my answer.

His fierceness was so surprising that it took me a second to remember exactly what I had been going to say to him. "It's not about blood, Hiccup," I explained gently. "It was about you. You offered to give up your whole life for the sake of Berk."

The memory of him standing in front of Alvin, bravely insulting the man, never betraying a hint of fear in his face, sent a flash of pride running through me. I smiled a little, not even sure what I wanted him to say.

"Yeah," he mumbled, but it was clear from his quiet tone that I had embarrassed him. "But that's just because...Berk..." I could see the tips of his ears turning red. "...That's got nothing to do with..."

"Blood or not," I interrupted gently, knowing he was about to offer me several thousand protests. "I love you."

I hesitated this time before pulling him into my arms, prepared to feel him struggling, prepared to release him at a moment's notice.

He didn't hug me back, but he didn't pull away, either. "I...r-really?" The confusion mixed with pain and what sounded like hope hit me hard. It sounded as though nobody had ever told him they loved him.

When he realized what he'd said, he tried again. "I mean, um...cool, nice-" as if he didn't know what to say back.

"Yes." I interrupted quietly.

He fell silent in my arms.


	8. The Hardest Part

Untold

Chapter 8 - The Hardest Part

Summary: "I think it would be best if I left Berk."

**A/N: Continuing with the theme of Stoick's POV, I've got this :D it was quite fun to write, but I've got more from Stoick's POV coming - more untold parts of TBLTWYLM, things that happened while Hiccup wasn't there or unconscious and stuff. Yeah. **

* * *

After a few more seconds of silence, he pulled away from me, not quite meeting my gaze. He was sitting rigidly, his hands clasped into tight fists - not trusting me.

The hot flash of guilt that came with this realization was enough to send my smile tumbling off my face. Of course he didn't trust me.

Last time he had, I had tried to kill him. I slowly slid him off my lap and onto the bed,

suddenly intensely aware of just how very small he felt in my arms, how small and vulnerable.

"Right," I whispered once he'd gotten settled. This was the one part I'd rehearsed that I didn't want to say, the part I wanted to cut out of the script. I wanted to let the curtain fall without these words being said, but I knew that was not going to happen. Life was not a book and there were no happy endings to it, no well-written, tearful hugs as he told me he loved me back, that he forgave me.

"I understand why you wouldn't want to live on Berk after...after everything that's happened. But, I should like you to know, should you choose to stay, you would always have a home here." I wanted to impress upon him just what I meant; how he'd always have somewhere to run to when he was cold or tired or injured. When he was lonely or upset or angry or tearful, when he was afraid or not, he could always come running right back to me.

"Um...sir..." he was looking uncomfortable now, blushing as he fiddled with the blanket.

I didn't miss the way he'd reverted back to calling me that. It sounded unfamiliar and foreign on his tongue.

"I think it would be best if I left Berk."

Of course. He didn't trust me. After what I had put him through, could he ever trust me again? If he could, would I deserve it?

"I understand." I whispered. I had to let him go. I had to remind myself that he was sixteen, not five. He could make his own decisions. I just had to stand back and accept them.

"That's not what I meant, sir," Hiccup added hastily. "I only meant...Alvin...you guys, you shouldn't have to deal with him while he's looking for me..."

A tiny bit of hope entered my chest. Was that it? Was that why he didn't want to stay? Did it have nothing to do with trust and everything to do with the fact that he didn't want to endanger us? When I realized I was simply gazing hopefully at him, I tried to rectify my mistake; he needed to know that he'd be safe here. "Hiccup...you're...if you want to be," I said hastily, "...then you're one of us now. That means we look out for each other.

It's our job. And whether or not you know it, it's what we'd do for each other anyway, Hiccup."

"You'd be willing?" He whispered. "You'd be willing to put your whole island at risk for some stupid-"

"Hiccup," I began warningly, trying to convey that I didn't want to hear him put himself down.

"-Kid?" He finished. "I thank you for the offer, but it's not your job to protect me, Stoick."

Wrong. It was my job. I was his father. He was my son. I should protect him. I should be able to. Why was I never able to?

"It's not anyone's job, except mine."

It shouldn't have been his. That's what I wanted to say. He shouldn't have to look out for himself.

Toothless gave an unhappy noise, capturing our attention. When e turned to him, he was glaring at Hiccup.

"Fine," Hiccup said, a smile threatening at the corners of his lips. "Toothless considers it his job, too."

This was so hard. I wanted more than anything to pull him into a hug and tell him I was his protector, his defender. He didn't need to look out for himself anymore. But I understood the independence in his gaze. I had lost him when he was only a baby, and he wasn't one anymore. I just had to remember that.

"If you ever do decide you need a place then," I insisted. He had to know Berk was always open to him as his refuge. "Then just know that you always have a home here, on Berk. Always."

He nodded slowly, but offered me no other replies.

I had gotten the hardest part over with. So why did it feel like what was to come was going to be even worse?


	9. The Magic Word

Untold

Chapter 9 - The Magic Word

Summary: Hiccup doesn't know a lot about how things run on Berk, and it starts to get to him.

**A/N: Ok. So. So. So. This is a slight break in the TBLTWYLM from Stoick's POV. This is the kind of stuff you can expect me to post after that is finished. You may make your decision about wanting to continue this story now XD**

**Furthermore, I guess this idea occurred to me because I was thinking one night about how much I really, really wanted Hiccup/Stoick fluff. I thought about this idea for a long time and kept continually dismissing it as too fluffy for this fic, not enough substance, not enough angst, etc. etc. **

**Finally, I decided to try my hand at writing it last night. Three versions later, here it is :) **

* * *

The early morning dew glistened in patches on the grass, the sky was turning pale purple and blue in preparation of the sunrise and I was trying to get up the biggest hill in Raven's Point Forest to watch it rise.

Stoick was the chief of Berk, meaning he rarely had time to do anything with me, and that was okay – but some days, he'd wake me early so we could watch the sunrise together.

This was one of those days.

So there I was, trying to get up the hill, but it had rained the night before, so things were still a bit wet. I went sliding all the way back down to the bottom, landing in a puddle of leftover rainwater.

The splash from my fall, coupled with the slight yelp I'd given when I slipped, had Stoick looking back at me. He gave a sigh, an affectionate smile making its way onto his face as he shook his head. He walked easily back down the hill, taking me by the hand and lifting me up out of the grass. "C'mon."

"I'm just going to fall back down," I informed him, taking to my feet again and starting up the hill.  
"I'll walk with you, then, and if you fall, I'll catch you," he replied simply, one hand on my back, gently guiding me forward.

"Thanks," I panted, when I'd made it to the top of the hill, and he'd stopped me falling twice.

"No problem." he replied softly as the first few rays of morning sun began peeking over the tops of the trees.

"Look!" I pointed to the sky, turning my attention to it instead. I edged a little farther forward to see the sun better, smiling into the early morning breeze that played with my hair.

As the light spilled out across the sky, I felt like saying or doing something – thanking Stoick for doing this with me, for wanting to spend time with me. But the words stuck in my throat and I found I couldn't think of how to say it without sounding like a complete idiot.

I turned to him as the sun shone down on us, still too early for it to dry up the dew on the ground.

"We'd better get back to the village," Stoick said softly, one hand on my back. "Everybody else will be waking up soon, and then the day will start."

Due to the constant hustle and bustle of the village, these walks were the only times I remembered what peace was like; I reluctantly fell into step beside Stoick, walking down the hill again.

Halfway back to the village, I went skidding due to a leftover puddle and (lucky me) ended up tripping and falling into a patch of ferns.

"Hiccup?" Stoick called, easily jumping over the puddle and looking down at me in the patch. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I replied. The ferns had cushioned my fall.

I tried to sit up, but the plants were still springy from last night's rain, and they didn't want to let me go. I ended up falling back, my body cushioned by the ferns. I tried to get out several more times, and the only thing I succeeded in doing was looking like a complete fool.

I could hear the village whispering even now: _"Chief's son bested by a plant, did you hear?" _

Stoick chuckled slightly, shaking his head a bit. "I've got an idea," he said, stepping neatly over to me. "Why don't I hold the leaves still while you jump out?" he suggested, putting his hands gently on the bed of ferns.

"That's a good idea," I replied gratefully. I reached down to straighten my shirt; it had come up slightly while I struggled against the ferns. Stoick pressed down on a branch at the same time, and, as a result, a couple of the leaves pressed against my side, tickling my skin.

I chuckled lightly, trying to bat it away. "Stop."

"What's wrong?" he frowned, letting me know he hadn't done it on purpose.

"Never mind," I shrugged. "A couple of leaves just tickled me, that was all."

"Oh." he nodded, reaching down to hold the bed still again, but an odd expression overtook his face, almost like an evil grin. "_Oh."_

"What?" I demanded.

He grabbed up a nearby fern from the bed beneath me and held it up, reaching for me with it.

I thought I knew what he was doing, but unfortunately, it only clicked in my brain a few seconds after he got a good hold of me. My shirt was still up slightly, so he waved the fern along my side, causing me to shriek in laughter and try to get out of reach of the fern, but I was trapped in the bed of plants.

Grinning, Stoick let the fern go farther, onto my stomach now instead of my side.

_'Chief's son really bested by a plant'_ I thought to myself.

"St-stop!" I pleaded through my chuckles.

"I never knew you were this ticklish," he teased.

I made a clumsy grab for the fern, but in my weakened state from all the laughter, I only just got a hold of it before Stoick yanked it out of my grip.

He waved it over my side and I swatted at it, laughing madly now. I let go of the last of my dignity and began begging for mercy. "Come on!" I laughed. "Stop it!"

"What's the magic word?" Stoick waved the fern over my stomach for what I sincerely hoped would be the last time.

"I…I d-don't know!" I choked, trying desperately to squirm away. "St-stop, just st-stop!"

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Stoick stopped tickling me, but he still held the fern rather threateningly, like he planned on doing it again soon.

"I don't know the…the magic word," I gasped, taking a couple deep breaths.

"Wh…" he seemed a bit dumbfounded. "You…you've never heard anyone say, 'what's the magic word'?"

"No," I sat up in the bed of ferns before they shoved me hopelessly back down.

"Oh!" Stoick released the fern, letting it fall at his feet; I only really breathed a sigh of relief when he put it down. "Let me help you."

He held it still while I clambered out, and I dusted myself off, unsure whether he was going to resume tickling me the moment I got out, asking me for magic words I didn't know, or if I was officially safe.

"So, you haven't ever heard anybody say, 'what's the magic word?'" Stoick asked again.

"No!" I repeated. "What…what is it supposed to be anyway?"

"The magic word, it's supposed to be 'please'. So, if you ever ask anybody to do something – or in this case, shout it at them – then they'll ask for the magic word. It's something to remind children to mind their manners – it's more memorable and often adds more fun to the game for the child than to remind them sternly."

"Oh." I flushed suddenly, looking down at the ground. "I…I've never had that before."

"Hey, there's…there's nothing wrong with that," he insisted, tilting my chin upward so I was forced to look at him. I wanted to look away from him so badly; how was it that I was suddenly very conscious of all the years with Alvin, when I would forget my place and he wouldn't use the magic word game to remind me, but instead a cuff on the head?

I pulled my face out of his grasp, looking at the ground. My mind flitted suddenly to the childhood I had lost, thanks to Alvin. If I had been here, on Berk, instead of with Alvin, things would have wound up so different. I would have grown up with Stoick; I would have known my real mother. I would have known what to say when he asked me for the magic word. I scuffed the toe of my boot against the wet grass. "I…uh…"

"Hiccup—

"It makes me feel like an idiot," I blurted. "Because there are so many little things about Berk, about life here, that I should know, that I _would_ have known! And it's so frustrating, because I want to know them, I want to know everything about this place and next to nothing about Outcast Island and the thing is, I can't ever have it that way! I can't ever be who I would have been had I grown up here. I don't know how anything here works – I'm still marveling at the fact that you want me, that you love me. It's so _stupid_, so stupid! That a stupid little game that parents play with their children should…should set me off, but…but…" I ran out of words, taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying my hardest to pretend nothing was happening. I didn't know where the sudden outburst had come from, or why it had come – all I knew was I wanted it to have never happened.

"Hiccup…" Stoick knelt down so we were eye level. "I know that you don't want to remember Outcast Island," he began gently. "And I know you want to lead a normal life. And the thing is, I would give everything for that – for you to have grown up here, for you to be happy, for you to feel wanted. I know we can't have it that way, Hiccup, but the thing is – you don't have to feel stupid. You're not an idiot for not knowing one simple thing. You might not know how things work here, but I promise – I promise that I will show you. I will show you how things work here and I will spend every second of the rest of my life showing you that I love you, that it's not some sort of shocking miracle. I'm supposed to. It's what a father is supposed to do for his son, is to love him, to be there for him."

"Is that why you're doing it, then?" I whispered. "Because you have to?"

"No," he replied softly. He grabbed me and pulled me into a tight hug. "I do it because I do care about you, whether or not I should. I love you and I have since before I even knew you were my son. I love you, Hiccup, and I promise I will prove it to you."

I sank to my knees in his arms, feeling the same warmth bloom in my chest, the warmth that came whenever he treated me like this, with love, with affection. I clung to him tightly as he rubbed gentle, soothing circles in my back.

"Are you okay?" he whispered after awhile. "Do you feel better?"

I swiped at the tears that had been trying to build in my eyes for the last ten minutes. "Thank you, Dad. Just…thank you. For everything."

"Don't thank me." he insisted quietly. "It's what I'm supposed to do for you, remember? I'm doing my job for you, Hiccup."

I pulled away from him and smiled gratefully.

He gave me a quick kiss on the forehead and smiled mischievously, grabbing up the fern again. "Now, let's see if you know that magic word…"


	10. Afraid

Untold

Chapter 10 - Afraid

Summary: It hit me, then, that people weren't naturally afraid of that.

**A/N: Ok. This chapter is dedicated to RazzlePazzleDooDot for her 1. amazing drawings for TBLTWYLM and other fics, 2. for her complete inability to see the flaws in my stories no matter what and 3. just because this was one of her favorite chapters of the story and I thought she might like a little gift :) **

* * *

"So, that was some temperature in the forge today, huh?" chuckled Gobber lightly.

"I thought for sure winter had come," Hiccup replied with a light laugh of his own.

"No, not yet, lad," Gobber told him, shaking his head. "But it will. Soon. It always starts like this." he looked out the window with a little sigh. "Which means you'll have to get a move on."

My friend's words suddenly made me realize that Hiccup wasn't going to be here forever – just until he finished his riding vest. He'd become such a part of daily life on Berk, such a natural part of the forge, that it was almost impossible to tell myself that, once upon a time, there had been a Berk without a Hiccup.

The idea seemed strange to me now, but I knew I would get used to it.

"What?" Hiccup sounded surprised.

"You don't ever want to leave Berk in winter," Gobber told him, a twinkle of amusement in his gaze. "You're pretty much guaranteed frostbite." he caught my eye and I nodded in agreement.

"'Course," Gobber added, "you're pretty much guaranteed frostbite anywhere on this island during winter." he shrugged.

I watched Hiccup closely, thinking maybe he'd give a sign that he wanted to stay, or maybe he'd request to stay until spring…

I tried to banish the thoughts; he wasn't staying until spring, or even Snoggletog. He was leaving soon, very soon. I wasn't ever going to see him again after this. But couldn't I enjoy the fantasy that he would be here forever, even if I only got to for a little while?

Hiccup grinned, taking a bite of bread. "I'll be sure to get the vest finished before the next snowfall."

"If the first snowfall comes before the vest gets finished, you'll stay here, of course?" I put in, making sure to make it a question and not a declaration; it sounded so silly, but I didn't want him to know I wanted him to stay.

"Oh…uh…um, I guess?" he raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Unless I want to freeze to death, and that's definitely not on my to-do list."

I smiled slightly at his joke, and Gobber chuckled.

I reached over to put a hand on his shoulder, to get and hold his attention. It seemed that sometimes, when I tried my hardest to show him kindness, he regarded the whole thing as one big joke.

When he saw my hand coming, everything seemed to slow down for a couple seconds. His expression transformed suddenly from one of amusement to fear. There was no other word for it; it wasn't terror, or panic, it was just fear, plain and simple.

He dropped his fork, and it clattered loudly against his plate. He flinched back, like he expected a strike, dropping his face. His bangs fell in front of his eyes, shielding his expression from view, but I knew that, under the hair, he was still scared of me.

I looked down at my hand, hovering in midair, inches from his shoulder. When had I ever given him reason to be afraid of me? When had any adult, ever, given him reason to fear? Had they? I looked up at him, waiting for his response.

He didn't say any words; he lifted his head slightly, peeking up at me fearfully, clearly still waiting for the blow. The rush of pity I felt for him in that moment surprised me; pity and something else, something I couldn't quite define. Did I want to define it, even?

"Hiccup?" I whispered softly. Everything about me was soft in that moment. I was so used to being a stern chief of Berk that I had forgotten that there were still things out there that made me soft – and frightened children had always, always been one of them. "Is there anything wrong?"

Of course there is, you idiot! I chastised myself.

Hiccup shook his head, but he wouldn't look me in the eye; one hand was resting on the table and when I looked down at it, I saw it was shaking.

He shook his head again – I don't think he was even aware of how badly he was trembling.

I wanted to say something to break the silence, because I was sure he wouldn't; how had he gone from laughing and joking two minutes earlier to this quiet, submissive boy in front of me? He was actually shrinking down in his seat, trying to appear smaller, trying to make it easier for me to strike him if I wanted. If that was what he expected, of course, and that appeared to be it.

"You flinched," I told him quietly, although I was sure he knew this already.

He shook his head again, but I caught sight of him through his shifting bangs and I saw his lips were shaking almost as badly as his hands.

I wanted to press it; I let so much go with him, even when I knew he was lying. Even when I knew it, I let it slide. I didn't want to let this slide. I never wanted him to be afraid of me. I wanted to make it plain that he had nothing to fear from me. I was never going to lay a hand on the boy in front of me. I would sooner die.

The realization should've confused me, the fact that I was willing to die for a boy I hardly knew. And yet, I knew it was true. The emotion that I couldn't define, the one that came along with the pity – it had been affection. Love. Protectiveness. The need to protect. The desire to protect him, the desire to defend him.

Gobber's chair scraping back pulled me out of my reverie. Looking up, I saw he had pushed his chair back all the way from the table and was standing up to leave. "I'll just examine your lovely carving collection, Stoick," he told me, but when he passed by, his expression said clearly what he meant: _I think he wants to be alone with you._

I waited a few minutes after Gobber had left, sitting there before reaching out a hand for Hiccup, to touch him, to comfort him, let him know I would never hurt him. And then I realized that that was what had upset him so much in the first place. I dropped my hand, letting it hit the table softly. It was a better idea to leave a touch out of the occasion on this one.

"Hiccup…" I began, unsure how to proceed. How exactly do you ask somebody a question like this? I hesitated, wondering if he was going to say something. When it became clear he wasn't, I decided to take the reins again. "You acted like you thought I was going to hit you."

Hiccup looked up at me again, careful, tentative. Afraid.

It hit me then, that people weren't naturally afraid of that. They didn't flinch back from people on a regular basis. Hiccup had been taught to be afraid of that. I felt pity rushing through me again and again, the need to protect, the need to defend. And if that need to defend, if this sudden need to fight for him…if it didn't mean rushing out onto the battlefield with sword and shield, if it instead meant sitting here in the quietness and assuring him I would never hurt him…if that's what fighting for him meant, too…then I was willing to do that, too.

"Uh…well…it's nothing, sir." His voice was quiet, soft…afraid. Again. "I mean, we are Vikings, after all, right?" His tone was shaking, his voice unsteady. I wondered worriedly if he was going to cry; I was useless at helping people when it came to that.

"Yes." I told him. "But the Peaceables don't practice violence, do they? That's what earned them their name, Peaceables, isn't it?"

Hiccup's gaze faltered; he had been looking at a point around my face, never quite meeting my eye and now it was back on the table. His hands had stopped shaking, but his voice was still unsteady. "Yes, sir."

"Then…" I began, but Hiccup's shaking voice interrupted mine.

"The Peaceable tribe was all about peace," he whispered, "but there were some people in there who weren't so peaceful. I got into fights with them sometimes."

"Sometimes?" I asked, before I could stop myself. "You must be very used to being hit."

What I could see of his face flushed a bright red. "It wasn't always kids my age," he mumbled in a barely audible voice. "Sometimes, it was…" he took a pause before his next words and I sensed the words were an effort. "Adults, sir."

Again, the need to protect, but this time, it came with a sudden understanding of what the phrase "seeing red" meant. The desire to hurt everybody who had ever hurt him was surprising. "Adults?" I spat, nearly shaking with rage.

"What's wrong with that?" he whispered, hardly daring to look up at me.

I hesitated before answering; didn't he understand that people must always, always keep their hands off children? Had he been taught differently? I waited a long minute before answering. It was during one of his fearful glances up at me that I spoke again. I caught his gaze and whispered, "Oh, Hiccup. So much."


	11. Closer

Untold

Chapter 11 - Closer

Summary: Stoick's POV of chapter 41.

**A/N: Um...here you go. **

* * *

I glanced down at the boy sleeping on the bed and rubbed my temples tiredly. He had tried to resist all offers of food, drink, help and sleep, but I had pushed him into accepting it anyway. He was stubborn, but so was I.

I ran a hand over his hair, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. I didn't blame him for not trusting me enough. I didn't blame him for wanting to leave. But it still hurt. I took a breath. We had made a deal: he would stay for the duration of tomorrow, to check how he did on his prosthetic leg and catch up on lost sleep and meals.

He had been sleeping for almost a week straight, actually, but the dark circles under his eyes clearly said he was still tired. He looked peaceful in sleep; open, vulnerable, trusting. He held himself so rigidly around me when he was awake; but asleep, he was completely relaxed.

It was nice to see him this way, for once; looking down at him, I could almost fool myself into thinking that this was back before I knew he was an Outcast. I could fool myself into thinking that nothing happened.

I gently put one hand on his cheek, staring down at him as different emotions flooded through me, both right and wrong.

On the one side, there was all the love and affection I had ever felt for anyone, multiplied into thousands; I had never known I could care for somebody this deeply, so deeply.

There was a protective instinct, there, too, something quietly insisting that this boy was mine; he was someone I had to protect, I had to defend. His smile made every day brighter and his tears were as gloomy as rain. And there was a fierce, fierce pride in him, for standing up for himself, for showing no fear towards the enemy, a kind of pride I don't believe I had ever felt.

And then there was the darker side, the confused mix. The strongest was guilt. Everything about him when he was awake - the rigid way he held himself, the tense way he moved and the formal way he spoke - I knew it was built on a deep distrust. All I wanted to do was hold him close and whisper that I was here now; he was okay, and I was never letting him go, never. And then there was anger, an unquenchable rage. Rage towards Alvin, for treating him this way...rage towards myself, for doing the same...and lastly, rage at him, though I knew it made no sense. I loved him with everything in me, and I was feeling that love so strongly now...but I was also feeling the rage so strongly now. It wasn't a desire to harm him physically; he appeared too simply breakable for me to ever think about abusing him and allow the thoughts to continue on. Still, it was rage.

And then, somewhere in between the guilt and the love came sadness. I was going to have to say goodbye to this boy and soon, so very soon. Could I do it? Could I look him in the eye and let him go? Could I willingly release his hand? Did I have the strength, did I have the courage?

Hiccup stirred in his sleep suddenly and I moved my hand off of him until he'd gotten settled.

When he had, he reached out for thin air, fingers grasping at nothing.

I reached for his hand; when his fingers met mine, he settled down, but his grip was almost too strong for me to break. The strength of his small hands surprised me.

He settled onto his side, one hand pillowing his head, the other clutching mine in a death grip. I allowed a small smile to pass over my face at the sight of him, before I thought about Alvin's words, for the first time since Hiccup had woken.

There had been so much to settle today, I'd nearly forgotten about that part, about what he'd said. Even when he'd been telling me, I'd quietly insisted to myself that whatever he said and whatever turned out to be true, I would love the boy anyway.

But looking down at him now, so fragile-looking, so worn, so very little, it was hard to believe anything Alvin had told me about him. When he was awake, with his hard eyes and rigid posture, I could believe anything; but in the quiet darkness of this night, when he looked so vulnerable, so fragile, it was so hard to believe.

Hiccup's eyelids flickered and he took his hand out from underneath his head, reaching up with it to grasp at mine, so both of his unbelievably small hands gripped mine tightly. I could've easily broken free from his grip; he wasn't terribly strong, after all. But I didn't.

I pulled the chair up closer to his bed and sat beside my son, holding his hands all night long.

* * *

I could see the effort it took to hold himself upright by the way his hands shook on the bedpost behind him; but it wasn't like he was ever going to tell anybody about it.

Gobber winced a little as Hiccup readied himself.

Hiccup shakily released the bedpost, taking a slow step forward. He barely made it half an inch before swaying suddenly, a sheen of sweat beginning to coat his forehead from the effort.

I took a step forward instinctively, arms out to stop his fall, but he gritted his teeth and shook his head at me.

His face had turned bright red from the exertion and his hands were clenched into such tight fists that the knuckles had gone white.

Toothless stuck his head out to catch Hiccup as well, and Hiccup relaxed slightly as he allowed himself to lean on the dragon for just a second before regaining his composure and shaking it off.

"Thanks," I heard him mumble breathlessly, taking his hands off the dragon's head. Toothless growled slightly, but his eyes were soft with concern.

"Sorry, bud," Hiccup whispered to him, righting himself, getting ready for another go with the fake leg.

He stood there for a long second, eyes misting over in thought and I worried that maybe he was in pain.

"Hiccup?" I whispered, and he glanced up at me, the film leaving his eyes.

"Yes, sir?"

I bit my tongue against the honest, 'you don't have to call me sir' that lingered there. I knew it would make him feel uncomfortable. "Are you alright?"

He nodded uncertainly, straightening up and getting ready to take another step.

I heard Gobber give a wince again as Hiccup took another step forward. It was so small, I'm not really sure how you could count it as a step, but the pain in Hiccup's eyes was so clear, I knew it was hard for him no matter how small it was.

Another clunking step forward and I saw him flinch, drawing a sharp breath. I winced, too, although I knew I had no right to. I couldn't help it; it was painful just watching it.

A cold blast of wind blew in the room and Hiccup shivered slightly, trying to steady himself enough for another step. I heard Toothless give a small, worried moan in the back of his throat and I turned to him, noticing it had caught Hiccup's attention, too.

"I'll be fine," he whispered to the dragon, even as I quietly marveled at how easily Hiccup spoke with him, like he understood everything.

"Are you sure?" I broke into their conversation, not believing him for one second; the memory of his small flinches and winces was too clear in my mind.

He gave an offended scoff. "Of course."

"You might want to take a break," I warned him. "You don't want to overdo it."

"I haven't even taken three steps since I started," he replied, the offense in his voice even clearer.

"For somebody who's just lost a limb, Hiccup, that COULD be overdoing it," Gobber put in.

Hiccup gave an annoyed sigh. "Look, I'll be fine!"

Toothless sternly shoved him back onto the bed by his nose and Hiccup fell onto his back before pulling himself upright with a wince and folding his arms, glaring at Toothless like he had personally betrayed him.

Gobber glanced out the window. "It's gonna drop tonight, I'll bet," he muttered resignedly.

Hiccup seemed to have taken Toothless' betrayal fairly well; he was rubbing the dragon's head, smiling down at him, the other hand rubbing his prosthetic. "What will?" He glanced curiously up at Gobber.

"The temperature," Gobber replied with a shrug.

Hiccup's eyes widened. "It's possible for it to drop?"

Gobber chuckled slightly and I couldn't help my own amusement from showing, even though I tried to remind myself it wasn't his fault.

"Yeah, where've you been all winter, Hiccup? Don't you know how cold it gets here?" Gobber asked in between chuckles.

"I've never had a Berk winter," Hiccup tried to defend himself, but his own smile was filled with companionship as he looked at Gobber. "It's a lot warmer on Outcast...I mean, where I come from." The smile dropped off his face and he fidgeted uncomfortably with his sleeve.

He didn't want to say Outcast Island.

I wanted to say something to him. Maybe, 'it's alright to talk about your old home' or something, but I was sure it would only drive him farther away, even though all I wanted was to pull him closer.

Gobber caught my eye and we exchanged glances.

'What do you think?' I asked him silently.

Gobber read my thoughts, the one thing he was so good at doing and replied back without speaking. 'I think he's not a child.'

He was right, of course. I didn't have to drive him away - but he was almost a grown man and the one thing I shouldn't do was try to pull him closer.


	12. Hypothetical

Untold

Chapter 12 - Hypothetical

Summary: Hiccup is curious about girls. Maybe Stoick can answer his questions.

**A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, peoplez! I hope you enjoy this semi-okay one-shot from a very bored person. But V-Day was fun for me because we baked cupcakes with little bits of red candy in them and and gave them pink frosting and red and white heart sprinkles :D how was you guys' holiday? **

* * *

Okay.

The thing was, I really, really did not want to ask Stoick about this. But I didn't particularly want to ask Gobber, either. Actually, I especially didn't want to ask Gobber.

He would get that look that clearly read that he knew this day would come and then he would launch into one of his stories – it might relate to the subject we were talking about, it might not, it all depends.

So, the thing was, the only other option I had was Stoick. The embarrassment factor would be high, but much less so if it was he I asked rather than Gobber. And, hopefully, the conversation would be over quicker.

So I sat down at the table, took a deep breath, focused on being natural and said it all in one breath. "I'mcurioushowdoyouaskoutagirl?"

_Way to be natural, Hiccup. _

I felt my cheeks beginning to heat as Stoick glanced up from the table and frowned. "What?"

"I…I was kind of curious," I tried to slow myself down as I repeated my words. "How do you ask out a girl?"

Dead silence.

I shifted uncomfortably.

Stoick blinked.

I coughed.

_This was a really bad idea, _I thought.

And then, slowly, a grin spread across Stoick's face. "Ohhhhhh…" he stretched out the word as he took a deep breath. "Somebody's been bitten by the love bug, huh, son?"  
"Um…uh…" The heat in my cheeks intensified as his words reached my ears. "It's a hypothetical question!" My voice came out sounding strangled and I found an intense desire to crawl under the table.

Funny how I could lie flawlessly about things like whether I was from Outcast Island or the Peaceable Tribe, but, if I entered a conversation about which girl I liked, I became completely tongue-tied.

"Alright." Stoick nodded, his grin vanishing as quickly as it had come. "So, hypothetically, who would the girl be?"

I released a little breath. "Hypothetically, I'd rather not answer this question."

He raised an eyebrow, but shrugged it off. "If you ask out a girl, the first piece of advice I would give you is to just be yourself."

I blinked, waiting for him to say 'just kidding!' and give me his real gem of advice. When I realized he was being serious and still awaiting my response, I managed, "What? That's…that's it? Just…be yourself?"

He nodded. "I mean, obviously, you ought to do something, like bring her flowers, maybe, if she's the type, but…just be you, and you should do fine."

"But…but what if she doesn't like me for me?" I blurted and then realized what I had said. He raised an eyebrow and I went bright red. "Hypothetically," I mumbled.

There was a short, uncomfortable silence.

"Well…" Stoick shrugged. "If she doesn't like you for you…what's the point? If she can't like you for who you are, you shouldn't be with her."

I scuffed my prosthetic against the wooden floor of the kitchen, inwardly wincing at the loud ding it made from metal on wood. "So…I should just…be myself? In case you haven't noticed, Stoick, 'myself' isn't very popular with the opposite sex."

"Popularity shouldn't matter to her," he stated firmly, before glancing back down at the table and asking in an off-hand sort of way, "And, uh…hypothetically, who would this girl that you're trying to ask out be?"

I sighed, glancing up at him uncertainly again. "Hypothetically…um…hypothetically, can I just not answer that?"

Stoick shook his head slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Okay. Alright." He held up his hands. "Hypothetically, yes you may."

I blew out a breath.

"Hypothetically, is this even hypothetical anymore?" he asked me, raising an eyebrow and letting his hands fall back on the table.

I ran a hand through my hair. "Hypothetically, no, not even close."

He smiled. "I thought so."

I put my head on the table. "Snotlout makes it look so easy to talk to her like this and the thing is, it's _not_! I mean, why hasn't anyone written a manual on this yet or something? Or, or…like, just a way for a guy to understand the female brain or something! Because, if you ask me, constantly decking me only assures me she _doesn't_ like me!"

Stoick was beginning to look like a light bulb had just clicked on in his brain. "Ahhhh…" he closed his eyes for a long moment, and then opened them again. "It's Astrid, then?"

"I didn't say that."

"She's the one you're always saying is always punching you."

"Yeah, but that could apply to a number of girls on Berk," I defended myself. "Like, you know…Ruffnut…or…or…that other girl, what's her name, um—

I cut myself off at the look Stoick was giving me, realizing he had won and I should probably accept defeat.

"Hypothetically, I don't think Astrid likes me. Or flowers." I sighed.

"The least you can do is try."

"If she says no, I'm never going to be able to talk to her again without keeling over from mortification. I mean, she's always telling Snotlout no and he never seems to have any lasting feelings from it, but, I mean, that's _him_." I sighed.

Stoick nodded. "Well, if she turns out not to like you, Hiccup, at least you told her and she knows and at least you know. I mean, there are millions of people in the world who ask themselves 'what ifs' at night, about everything, everything they never took a chance on. The least you can do is give it a shot. What's the worst that can happen?"

* * *

This previous little endeavor you just witnessed between me and him is the whole reason behind why I am standing on Astrid's door, smoothing down my hair with one hand and holding a bouquet of flowers in the other. I took my hand off my head, nervously ran a finger along the blue, white, red, and yellow flower petals, and then closed the same hand into a fist and knocked on her door.

The next thing I knew, the door opened roughly and there stood, not a beautiful and tough blonde girl, but instead a large, blonde mountain of a man who stared me down like he was a lion seeing prey.

I gulped, deciding on the spot that it was a good idea to hide the flowers behind my back. Trying to stuff them out of sight and also not look like I was nervously anticipating being this guy's next meal, I said in a choked, barely audible voice, "Um…hi. I, uh…I'm here for Astrid."

Mountain Man grunted. "Speak up, scrawny."

I bit my lip, feeling my cheeks starting to grow hot. "Is Astrid here? I'm looking for her."

"Wait right here. I'll go get her." He disappeared into the house and I heard him talking in much quieter voice than usual, more human than lion. He didn't come back, but Astrid came to the door, brushed her bangs out of her face and smiled, sliding onto the porch. "Hey. I haven't seen you around lately. What brought you here?"

"Um…" I was suddenly aware that my grip on the flowers was sweaty.

Astrid glanced behind her and pulled the door very slightly closed, hopefully blocking out Mountain Man's hearing, because it was then that I just blurted it out. "Doyouwanttogooutwithme?"

"Huh?" she tilted her head slightly to the side, frowning in confusion.

"Do you want to go out…with me?" I inwardly winced at how awkward it sounded and how cheesy I looked as I brought the flowers out from behind my back and held them out to her.

She stared down at the colorful mixture of petals for a second and I dropped my gaze from her face to the ground, shuffling my feet awkwardly as I waited for her to either accept it or laugh at me.

Instead of maybe, I don't know, just using her words to tell me whether or not she liked me, Astrid did what she always did: she punched me right on the shoulder.

"Ow!" I dropped the flowers as my hand flew to my shoulder. "What was that for?"

"What in Thor's name took you so long?" she demanded with a smile, shaking her head and scooping the flowers up from the ground. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek and then pulled away to continue her rant.

I rubbed my shoulder, wondering how large the bruise was going to be this time around. But, as I looked back up at her, I realized that I wouldn't have had her say yes any other way.


	13. None of My Business

Untold

Chapter 13 - None of My Business

Summary: Chapter 43 from Stoick's POV.

**A/N: Heyyyy people. I already have chapter 44 from Stoick's POV written as well, so I'm thinking I'll post them both now. Two chapters tonight, to make up for my appalling lack of updates on other stories. **

* * *

I glanced out the window and saw the snow piling up on our doorstep, realizing what this meant. "I think we're snowed in."

"Like, snowed in, snowed in?" Hiccup asked nervously from somewhere beside me. Looking down, I saw he was leaning heavily on Toothless as he peered out the window, too, eyes wide as he watched the snow falling thickly.

"What other snowed in is there?" I demanded, and then bit my tongue against how harsh it sounded, even to my own ears. Trying to change the subject, I added, "I don't think we'll be able to get out until the snow melts, unless you'd like to try crawling through a window."

My attention was captured by the other houses down below, all covered in white flakes as well. "I suppose others must be snowed in, too."

"How long will it take the snow to melt?" Hiccup asked, slightly nervously.

I shrugged, turning back to him. "It could be a few days, considering the weather here." My mind jumped to the blizzard of Olaf; I sincerely hoped we had nothing like that starting up.

I heard Hiccup walking slowly back to the bed; the swish and clunk of his prosthetic was too foreign to my ears not to notice.

"I hope this storm doesn't last too long," I mumbled, still stuck on thoughts of blizzards.

I stayed by the window for a few long seconds before hearing sounds of creaking metal coming from the bed; walking around to sit in the chair, I saw Hiccup was examining his prosthetic.

I sat down in the chair and turned my eyes to the shelf full of wooden carvings. I picked my most recent one up, along with the knife, carefully avoiding Hiccup's eye.

We sat in silence for a long minute before Hiccup said suddenly, "Wow. That's really good."

Startled, I lifted my head to see he was studying the carving. I opened my mouth to thank him, but before I could, he blushed, trying o backtrack.

"Um...er...sorry, sir..." he mumbled, his face going bright red.

"For what?" The look on his face was so reminiscent of the day that he thought I was going to strike him that I set down the carving and the knife, giving him my full attention.

I tilted my head, and my helmet slid dangerously. I tugged it off my head and set it down on the shelf, turning back to Hiccup.

It took him a long while to answer. Finally, he said, "Er,'well, I don't know. You were carving and I said that's really good and maybe you don't like people...never mind."

It was clear his explanation consisted only of that, so I shrugged it off, turning back to the carving I was working on. I worked on it for a few more seconds, but I could feel Hiccup's gaze on me, so I turned back to him, cocking my head slightly.

"What?" He asked, like it was I who had started this strange sort of staring contest.

"Nothing," I replied, my eyes going back to my carving. "Just...uh, thinking, is all."

"Do you...do you mind me watching?" Hiccup asked hesitantly, shyly. "I don't have to, I can...I can do something else..."

"No," I interrupted quickly. "That wasn't what I..." I trailed off. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I could tell he wanted to say and yet we both kept our mouths shut. "Anyway," I finished awkwardly, turning my attention back to the carving. It wasn't like it mattered. He was leaving tomorrow. The last thing I ought to do was pull him closer.

I focused on the carving for a few more minutes, but Hiccup made a strange noise in the silence, almost like he was sniffing. When I looked up, he was wiping at his nose and eyes with his sleeve, quietly crying.

His tears alarmed me; I wasn't very good at dealing with tears and I wasn't even sure why he was crying in the first place.

"Are you alright?" I asked, keeping my eyes trained on him as I waited for the answer. He started slightly when he looked at me; his eyes still glistened with tears.

"Yeah." His voice was throaty and thick, but he glanced back down at himself, looking at a piece of lint on his sleeve.

A part of me wanted to press it, wanted to discover the reason behind his tears...but I knew he was leaving soon, I knew he didn't trust me and he had very good reason, and I knew he was embarrassed that I'd seen his tears at all.

I turned slowly back to my carving, still with one eye on Hiccup, who was no longer examining his linty sleeves; he was using his sleeve to wipe his eyes again.

He began playing with the blankets, studying them very carefully, almost nervously. "Um...so...uh..."

I glanced up at him curiously, wondering if he was going to try and say something meaningful, maybe tell me...maybe he would tell me he had forgiven me or...or...

All the wonderful possibilities of all the things he might be about to say filled my head and I waited to hear what he was going to say.

"D-does weather always get this bad on Berk in winter?"

My shoulders slumped slightly, but I tried to mask my disappointment by examining my carving minutely. "Ninety percent of the time, yes. But sometimes, we'll get very hot summers and the winters won't be as bad."

As silence fell between us once more, I put down the knife and the carving, turning to him purposefully. I didn't wan to let the silence claim another hour or so of our time together. "I actually had a question for you."

I was sure he wasn't going to be very responsive, so I began speaking before he could get a word in. "What did he mean earlier, when you said you'd become his conquer?"

"Who?" Hiccup asked blankly.

"Alvin," I explained, almost absentmindedly picking up the knife and playing with it. "He called you his conquer. He called you his. What did he mean?"

Hiccup's silence was a very long one. He stared down at the floor, scuffing his boot against it, his brow knitting again. He glanced up at me uncertainly, looking me up and down...and then he shrugged. "No idea. Guess because I used to live in his village."

"The way they treated you, though," I whispered, my mind straying far from his response. "They talked about you like...like..."

I struggled to find a suitable analogy, something, some way to tell him it was wrong.

"...Like you weren't even there."

"He treated you like you were less than." And you seemed to expect it.

"I know." He whispered quietly, but his fingers had gone very white from how hard he was gripping the edge of his bed. He tucked his hair behind his ears, playing self-consciously with his hands, trying his best not to meet my eye.

And suddenly it occurred to me that the message that he somehow was inferior might have been beaten into his head, that he might even believe he really was. The thought angered me, but I knew a sudden show of rage would do him no good; I was angry because he shouldn't think that way, because none of those Outcasts were worth even a tenth of him.

"You're not." I said quietly.

His head snapped up. "What?"

"Less than. You're not. Alvin...the way he spoke to you...it was like you were. But you're not."

His cheeks colored. "Oh."

"Yeah." I nodded. "Thought I'd, you know, put that out there."

"Oh." He repeated uncertainly. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't let him," I added. I wanted to reach out for him, tilt his chin upward so he had to look at me, but I understood now that he didn't like being touched and I thought I understood why. "Don't let him tell you that. Or...or anyone else for that matter. You're better than that."

The flush in his cheeks seemed to deepen. "Um, okay. Thanks...I think..."

"I mean it," I insisted.

"I know," he nodded.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, turning back to the carving, although my mind had never been farther from it.

"For what?" He looked confused.

"For that," I replied. "I don't want him to have made you feel less than."

"Sir, I think it's his life ambition to make everybody feel that way," he told me quietly. His tone was completely serious, and somehow that made his words even more amusing.

I smiled slightly. "You've got a point." But he treats you worse than anyone else, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue, my mind flashing back to our conversation. I shouldn't press him. It was none of my business.


	14. Home

Untold

Chapter 14 - Home

Summary: I didn't want him to hide from me anymore; not in shame, not in embarrassment, not in fear...

**A/N: Err...yeah. Here you go.**

* * *

There was another long silence between us, a silence in which Hiccup stared at the ground, his brow knitting again as he thought. He glanced around the room several times, an uncertain, anguished expression making its way across his face.

"I actually had a question for you," I admitted, setting down my carving knife and the wooden carving. "You say you're leaving Berk, right?"

"Yes, sir," he nodded.

"Where will you go?" I asked, and then immediately wished I hadn't; it wasn't any of my business, so why was I asking?

"What?"

"If you don't wish to tell me, I understand," I added hurriedly, "but you say you're leaving, but you've got nowhere to go."

For a moment, he sat there in silence, staring at me. "I...I don't know." He looked so forlorn, so lost...if only he would accept a home here, on Berk.

But I knew that could never be.

"I see," I replied quietly.

"There are islands, though," he added quickly, like he was trying to convince both himself and me. "I-I know people. I'll do something. I'll fix it."

"You'll find something," I repeated softly, with a nod. "I see."

Yes. I did see. I saw that he was being foolish about this. For the love of Thor, what was wrong with waiting until he'd actually found a reliable place?

I turned back to the carving in my hand, trying not to say that aloud. I examined it for a second, looking for mistakes, and, when I glanced over, Hiccup was looking at the ground, his face wet with tears.

"Are you alright?" I asked, trying to sound gentle and not alarmed.

"Y-yes," he replied thickly.

"You're crying." I told him and then instantly realized how stupid it sounded. 'Thank you, Einstein.'

His fingers flew up to his cheek, feeling around for the tears. I had never known somebody could cry without realizing they were, but clearly they could.'I leaned over and gently dried his tears for him, pulling away and looking down at the shining liquid on my finger for a second.

Had I upset him this badly with asking where he was going? "I'm sorry," I told him quietly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"What?" He asked me in a shaky voice, glancing up at me with a now-dry face.

"I didn't mean to upset you," I told him again. I reached out for him, my fingers finding his shoulder and resting there. I tried not to be hurt at the way he flinched away at first. I had hurt him and now I was paying the price. But I was going to make it better. No matter how long I took, I was going to make things right; even if I didn't get a book happy ending, I wanted him to understand that I would never hurt him. "I didn't mean you had nowhere," I continued. "I meant if you don't count Berk."

"Oh." His voice was strangely choked. He kept wiping at his eyes, obviously trying to keep it quiet so I wouldn't notice. I turned back to my carving so he wouldn't think I'd seen him. "Um..." his voice still sounded strangled and I knew the moment I stepped out of the room, he was going to start crying.

I put down my knife and my carving, about to stand up, to give him his privacy to cry.

A few more weak sounds made their way out of his throat and then, quite suddenly, with no warning, he burst into tears. They weren't quiet sobs, modest or quiet. They were deep, heart-wrenching sobs that he was trying so hard to quell.

I stood, debating between walking away and letting him cry by himself, but for some reason, I found I couldn't do that. I sank to my knees beside his bed and held out my arms, but he didn't look at me once, so I pulled him closer. He was rigid for a few seconds, his tears quieting before I rubbed his back gently, soothingly and he collapsed into brokenness again. He wasn't rigid anymore; he was all over the place.

He clutched at me like I was a lifeline, his only lifeline and I hugged him tight, letting him sob as much as he wanted.

"It's okay." I whispered. Tears threatened to fall from my own eyes at the sight of his, but I pushed them back; I had to be strong for him. "It's alright, Hiccup. You're alright."

His tears began to quiet again as he tried to stop them, but after a few seconds, he gave up. His grip on my shirt tightened, his sobs causing him to tremble. The choked noises making their way up from his mouth might've been more sobs, I couldn't tell. I held him gently, but tightly, letting him cry, letting him get it out.

It occurred to me as I sat there that he must not have cried for a very long time. I hugged him tighter, bending my body to match his, to hold him better.

I could hear his sobs beginning to quiet. Everything was very quiet as he gave one final sniff, staying very quiet and still in my arms.

"Hiccup..." I whispered. I wanted to comfort him, but how could I? What could I say to him? What could I possibly say to help him, to fix him? "Hiccup-"

But there was nothing to be said. I shook my head.

He had gone quiet in my arms and, just when I thought he was going to start crying again, he tightened his hold on me. "I love you." His voice was shaky and threatened to break, but the words were unmistakable.

I gasped slightly at hearing the words, my hold on him turning from a gentle hug into a rigid and awkward pose.

I hesitated, unsure if saying it back would only drive him away. I sat in another long second of silence, and I became aware he was starting to stiffen in my arms. I tightened my hug, realizing silently that he needed me to say it back, he needed to hear it. How long had it been since he'd heard the words? How long had it been since he'd said them?

"I love you, too," I whispered, tightening my hold; he was starting to struggle against me, and I didn't want to let him go just yet. When the words left my mouth, his struggles died down just as soon as they had started. He hugged me back now, but he was careful, uncertain.

"You're alright, you know that?" I whispered to reassure him. "You're safe and I won't let anyone hurt you."

There was silence for a second and then Hiccup gave another small sob; I could tell he tried to keep it quiet, but all the same, my heart broke for him. His grip on me tightened and he was sitting so close to me he was almost in my lap by now, but I didn't care; I just held him tight and I held him close.

He pulled away from me suddenly, biting his lip. "Um...uh...Da-Stoick?" The slip-up was quick and the correction even quicker, but I still caught it. He had nearly called me 'Dad'.

I wanted to hug him again and tell him it was okay - he didn't have to call me Stoick, or Chief, or even 'sir'; Dad was just fine with me. As I opened my mouth to tell him so, I realized he was bright red, face flushed with shame and embarrassment at his mistake. It would only humiliate him more if I drew attention to it in any way.

"Go on," I said instead, quietly.

"Did...did Alvin say anything?" He blurted. "About when I was on Outcast Island? You said you're not gonna let anybody hurt me." He dropped his head, a sheet of red hair falling in front of his eyes. I put a hand under his chin and slowly lifted his face up. I didn't want him to hide from me anymore; not in shame, not in embarrassment, not in fear...

"It made me think of Alvin." He whispered. "I was wondering whether he'd told you anything...by the way you're acting."

I didn't want to say the truth, but Alvin's words flashed through my mind once more, hard as I had been trying not to think about them: 'You think you want this boy? Maybe, Stoick, you should learn a little bit more about this son of yours first..."

"A little." It would do no good to lie. When I saw him beginning to look uncomfortable and ashamed again, trying to duck his head so he could hide behind his hair, I kept a tight hold on his chin. "He didn't say much. He was really only trying to get me to free him from my conditions, specifically the one including you."

I hesitated to say the rest. "Some of the things he told me, Hiccup..." and then I stopped myself. If he was so ashamed at the mere thought that I had heard something about him, I didn't want to admit to him how much Alvin had really told me. "I don't believe them, Hiccup," I told him for emphasis. "Never mind."

"What did he say?" Hiccup's shaking voice gave his nervousness away.

"Just things. I guess I'm still wondering if they're true," I admitted hesitantly.

"What do you mean?" He asked nervously.

"I shouldn't ask you," I told him, pulling away from the hug. "It's your business..."

"What do you want to know?" He asked uncertainly. He glanced down at the floor and mumbled, "I can tell you a little...if you're curious, I mean."


	15. Childish

Untold

Chapter 15 - Childish

Summary: Hiccup has more effect on Stoick than the chieftain realizes.

**A/N: Yeahhh. Here's a small part of chapter 25 from Stoick's POV. It just occurred to me, I don't know. xP Since I'm doing large chunks from his POV, I thought 'why not' and this was born. I just thought maybe, as chief, Stoick values the village's opinion a lot, but then he realizes Hiccup's happiness means more to him. Yep :)**

* * *

I took in the giant, half-completed snow Viking before even realizing I was still holding onto Hiccup in an attempt to steady him.

When I remembered this, I made to draw away from him, only to realize he was nearly white with cold and shivering.

"You're freezing," I commented with a frown, letting go of him.

He straightened up when I released him, a confused look overtaking his face. "Well…I'm kind of cold, I guess, but…"

"Your skin is going to turn blue," I told him sternly. "Your lips are going to grow icicles and your tongue is going to fall out."

"It will not!" Gobber remarked loudly. "My parents always told me they would and they never did!"

"All the same, I think you two should get inside. C'mon. My day has just ended, you guys can come in and get warm in my house if you like," I offered.

"But…our snow Viking…" Gobber began helplessly.

"C'mon, Gobber," Hiccup encouraged, turning around to look at him. "We can finish him tomorrow."

"He'll melt!" Gobber announced dramatically.

_What a tragedy, _I thought to myself.

"We have to finish him first," Gobber insisted and then turned to me, his eyes going wide and pleading.

I knew what he wanted and I nearly refused, but I saw Hiccup perk up slightly too, green eyes turning wide and hopeful.

"This is the point where my friendly affection should stop," I murmured sourly, but I still walked forward and joined in.

For the first few minutes, I glanced around, how childish this looked, before Hiccup tugged on my sleeve and pointed to the snow Viking proudly; he now had eyes and a mouth.

My gaze instantly went back to Hiccup and I realized his eyes were glowing, his face alight with childish wonder and happiness.

He was clearly delighted with the snow Viking, laughing and unable to stop grinning as he helped me collect twigs for his arms.

And, although my behavior did raise a few eyebrows, I found I didn't care quite as much as I might have before. The glowing smile on Hiccup's face made it worth every second.


	16. Stay Close to Me

Untold

Chapter 16 - Stay Close to Me

Summary: Chapter 45 from Stoick's POV

**A/N: Here you go.**

* * *

The idea that he trusted me enough to be honest with me warmed my heart; I hugged him a little tighter as I spoke. "You grew up on Outcast Island, then?"

He pulled away slightly, looking up at me as he replied. "Yeah."

"What...what was it like?" The question slipped out before I even thought about it.

"I don't really know what makes it different from other islands. It was a lot different from here, though," he added softly, his expression suddenly taking on a wistful look. "I'll tell you that."

My heart tugged at the loneliness and longing in his voice as my mind traveled back, back to everything Alvin had told me and everything I had seen.

I gently rubbed his back as I spoke. "Yes. I know it's a lot different." I would see to it that Berk never would be like Outcast Island, either. It wouldn't be a place of fear to him, but a place of refuge. If he wanted it to be, then it could be his home.

I stared down at him for a long second, thinking about how sad he looked all the time, how all of his smiles had always been bitter quirks of the lips, never genuine, not until recently. I thought about how he'd come here with millions of scars on his face and neck and hands, how he flinched whenever I so much as tried to touch him.

He had learned to do that from Alvin. The Peaceable Tribe didn't teach you to flinch when somebody reached for you, it didn't leave scars on its members. How could I not have seen this all before?

"I should've known." I hadn't realized I'd spoken my thoughts aloud until Hiccup responded.

"You should've known what?"

"Nothing," I replied automatically, but at his piercing look, I elaborated. "I was only saying...I was thinking of when you first arrived here." I hesitated on saying what I had in mind. I decided to take a chance and say it. "You flinched like you thought people were going to hit you every five seconds. You had whip marks all over your shoulders and I bet they're on your back, too. You have scars everywhere and you back away when other people so much as touch you."

I put one hand on his face, gently cupping his cheek. Maybe I shouldn't have touched him without him okaying it first, but I wanted to hold onto some part of him right then. I wanted to hold him right then and make it all better.

"I should've known." I exhaled. "You fooled me with your lies about the Peaceable Tribe...I'm looking back on it and wondering why I didn't see it all before."

There was a silence.

"It's hard to spot sometimes," he told me gently. "When you don't really want to know the truth and when you want to believe lies, you don't look too hard. Not even if it's right in front of you."

I had most definitely not wanted to know the truth, even when I began to suspect. When he'd flinched away from me that day in my house, when he'd thought I was going to strike him, I had begun to suspect that he wasn't a Peaceable. But what had I done?

I had ignored all the signs and loved him anyway. I had loved him whether it was right or wrong and I had shoved my suspicions to the back of my mind, and I'd hoped that he was telling the truth. I had chosen to believe he was telling the truth. Because I had loved him too much to stay away. Even when I knew it was better to keep my distance, I had chosen to grow close.

It was clear why he had lied about being an Outcast. But what wasn't clear to me, what I began to think would never be fully clear enough to me, was why he was afraid. Why did he flinch when I went to touch him? Why did he think I was going to hit him? Why had he reacted so badly when I'd reached for him? Why did he always seem to think somebody was out to hurt him?

I knew Outcast Island was a rough place to live and he would have had it worse than anyone else, being the runt of the litter, but...was he really as badly mistreated there as Alvin had made it seem?

I glanced down at him, suddenly struck by this realization, the realization that, although I might know him now, I knew nothing about what he had gone through. I could tell from the tentative and slightly afraid look in his eyes that he had seen unspeakable things, that unspeakable things had been done to him, but I wasn't content with that knowledge. I wanted to know him better than this. If he was alright with it, I wanted him to tell me everything.

"I'm curious," I informed him.

"I know you are," he told me.

"No." I had to impress upon him that I didn't want to know a little; I wanted to know everything, if he was willing to tell me. "You told me you could tell me a little bit if I was curious. I am curious, but not about the small things. I want to know why you acted that way."

His brow furrowed, like he was trying to think of what "that way" was.

"When you first wound up here," I added for explanation. "The way you acted. I just explained it to you. I know Outcast Island is a rough place to live, but...that rough?" I hesitated slightly before adding the rest. "You told me before I knew the truth that it was the Peaceable tribe. That you got into fights with them sometimes."

There was a short silence.

"Can you tell me the truth?"

Another silence as Hiccup stared at the floor, an odd expression beginning on his face. "Um..."

I had overstepped. He didn't want to talk about it. "You don't have to talk," I whispered hastily. "Not if you don't want to."

He peeked up at me tentatively, dropped his eyes back to the ground and said in a quiet, croaky voice, "It wasn't ever fights. It was Alvin." He glanced up at me again, hesitant and afraid.

I tried to keep my expression neutral, even though I was boiling with rage inside. I had suspected this from the first time I'd seen them interact, but it didn't suffice for the real thing. The idea that Alvin had even so much as touched my Hiccup with the intent to harm was enough to make me see red.

I knew a show of anger would do him no good, however, so I tried to keep it quiet as I whispered, "Go on."

He hesitated for another long moment, staring down at Toothless. "I've already told you that Toothless lost half his tail when we met. It was another Outcast who'd shot him down. And so Alvin told him to take a small search party into the forest and look for him. There was a little cove in the forest, all blocked off by boulders. The entrance was so small nobody but I could go through it. I was in the forest when the sounds of the hunting party reached my ears."

He stopped here to take a quick peek up at me, as if he expected me to be glaring at him. I wasn't exactly sure where he was going with his story and how Alvin tied in, so I sat there silently, waiting for him to continue.

"I went in the cove to avoid them and that's when I stumbled across Toothless." He gave the dragon's head a comforting pat and glanced down at him affectionately as he scratched him behind the ears.

He glanced up again, a timid and fearful two-second look, before lowering his head again. "Toothless couldn't fly away and there was nowhere else in he forest for me to go to avoid the other villagers than there. I went there every week and after awhile, I began visiting him every day. I tried to bring him food and he got angry the first couple times because he thought I was trying to trick him. After awhile, we..." he glanced uncertainly down at Toothless, running a hand over his dragon's head again, fingers shaking slightly. "...we just sort of trusted each other."

Toothless fanned his wings out behind Hiccup in a gesture similar to a hug, nearly wrapping the boy in his wings, gently nuzzling Hiccup's hair with his nose.

Hiccup hesitated as he opened his mouth, glancing up at Toothless like he was asking for permission.

Toothless gently brushed his wing across Hiccup's cheek, and the boy smiled.

He glanced right back up at me again, uncertain, nervous. He dropped his gaze. "Um...and then...one day..." his story was coming in a reluctant manner, uncertainty and hesitation written in every line of his face. "...I decided to show the other people on Outcast Island that...that dragons were different."

I winced inwardly at the tale he was telling, the terrible ending that I knew was sure to come.

I studied him as I thought of this, wondering what kind of pain he had gone through that caused him to slow his story and peek up at me again, tentative and careful. He hadn't been killed, obviously, and Toothless was still here too, so I couldn't draw to any terrible conclusions yet.

It was clear he was waiting for some type of response from me, so I simply said, "I see. Go on."

"I tried telling them, but...but they didn't listen. And Alvin was watching, too, and he took me...into our home...and...well..." a look of shame and fear cloaked his face and it was like a veil had been lifted from my eyes. I thought I now understood his reaction to me whenever I tried to touch him.

"He hit you?" I tried to keep my voice neutral, but it shook with rage.

Hiccup shifted self-consciously, playing with his hands. "Maybe," he mumbled defensively.

There was a short silence.

"Yes." He admitted quietly.

He reached up and put a hand on his cheek, touching it absently. Maybe he was unaware that he was doing it, but I was aware. As his fingers drifted over his face one last time, I realized that his expression had darkened, his face a mixture of shame and fear. Although he was sixteen years old, the expression on his face made him appear much younger, more like ten or eleven.

The rage boiling just beneath the surface calmed suddenly, overtaken by worry for him. "You don't have to talk," I whispered. "Not if you don't want to."

There was a second of shaky, confused silence and then he whispered, "I'm okay." He nodded a little, trying to reassure me, trying to make his trembling lips form a brave face for me.

He tried to pick up his story again, but it was clear he was feeling wrong-footed. "Well, once Alvin and I had..." he hesitated. "...um, talked, he, um...he told me to renounce it. He said that if I wanted to stay alive and a part of the Outcasts, that I would have to kill a dragon and then nothing more would be said about it. I would like to think..." he hesitated for another long second. "...I would like to think that I had the strength to say no to him, but that strength only came when he insisted that the dragon be Toothless. I knew I'd fail then, though, so what was the point in trying, even if I didn't care about him?"

He sighed a little as he continued. "I told Alvin I wasn't going to do it and he got so mad..." he shuddered slightly, and I felt again the need to protect, the need to fight for him. "He locked us up and told us we were gonna be executed in the morning."

The need to protect fizzed, even stronger now than ever, along with the insatiable rage. I wanted to let him keep talking, but I found I had to interrupt. "He tried to kill you?"

"Oh, no," Hiccup replied matter-of-factly. "No, he decided against that. I tried to escape with Toothless, you see, and we only ever made it to Hysteric Isle. Alvin found me within two days, I think it was. He normally finds me in about a week or two. I'm surprised it took him so long to find me here."

The way he spoke - like this was all in a day's work for your average Viking - caught me off-guard. It was like this kind of treatment had been accepted for so long that he had learned not only to accept it but also to expect it. My mind flashed again to the night he thought I was going to hit him.

And then I latched onto another thing he'd said and I felt surprise take over my pity. "You've been to Hysteric Isle?"

"They weren't so bad," Hiccup responded. "Now they did it nice and polite to my face; they told me that they were going to kill me, instead of leading me around in circles like Alvin likes to do." He shrugged. "At least they were straightforward about it."

Again, the matter-of-fact tone made me wonder. He was so calm when discussing people plotting his murder; I wondered incredulously for a moment if he had felt scared through one second of this.

That question was silenced by the harsh reply I gave myself: 'of course he was, Stoick,' I chided. 'He must've been terrified.'

The moment the thought hit, I realized his straightforward way of telling me this, this sudden directness, it was all a brave front. He was scared and he had been. Telling me this did bother him, only he wanted to pretend it didn't.

I stared down at him for a second, debating between telling him it was okay to be afraid and thinking this would sound like a Hallmark greeting card.

Before I could make the decision, Hiccup said quickly, "So, yeah...Alvin got me back."

I could tell he was only trying to change the subject, but for what reason, I wasn't sure. Nonetheless, I tried to fix my features into an expression that meant I was listening.

"Anyway," Hiccup was saying, "he got me back, I escaped, he got me back, I escaped, he got me back...this continued on for a few years by the way, so...not much to tell there."

My eyebrows flew up as his words reached my ears. At the most, I would have guessed this treatment had lasted a couple weeks. "Years?" I repeated, the word foul on my tongue as I began to suspect that he might have been through this longer than I first thought. "How...how old were you when this happened, Hiccup?"

"Um...well..." he wrinkled his nose and furrowed his brow, tilting his head to the side. "I met Toothless when I was ten, I know that much...ten, eleven...yeah, I was twelve when I was told to renounce Toothless and by the time they'd locked me up, I was almost thirteen. So...thirteen and fourteen is when I kept trying to escape. So, that would've made me fifteen when I decided to actually plan something out and run hell bent for leather with Toothless and by the time I'd got to put it into action, I'm pretty sure I'd turned sixteen, although I could still be fifteen."

The confusion about his own age shouldn't have hit me that hard. But the thing was, he didn't know his own age, and he'd spent so many years in the dark that it had become his normal. His treatment on Outcast Island had become such a heavy part of him and as much as I wanted him to leave it behind, I knew he could only let go little by little, not all at once.

The part that ignited my temper was the utter helplessness I felt, the complete inability to make it better. How could I ever take away the things he had suffered, the pain he had endured? "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough, but it was a start.

"No need." Again, the brave front forced onto his face when I knew he was doing it to hide how hard it was for him. "I'm doing fine."

"I know that," I replied softly. "But still..."

He looked up at me for a long second, opened his mouth and closed it again. I thought he might admit to his fear, or his sadness and loneliness. Maybe he would tell me something, maybe he would go deeper. I could see he was holding so much back, like he was afraid of delving into it for my sake. Or maybe he was just afraid because he didn't like to talk about it. Maybe it wasn't for my sake that he kept it from me. Maybe it was for his own, to keep himself from breaking down again.

Nonetheless, I waited to see if he would tell me more.

And then...

"When will this snow stop?"


	17. The Almost Father

Untold

Chapter 17 - The Almost Father

Summary: He was so familiar, but yet so foreign...

**A/N: This chapter and the next were written originally as a gift for RazzlePazzleDooDot who said chapter 3 was one of her favorites. **

* * *

It happened as if in slow motion: the figure fell from the dragon's back, his arms spread wide, his mouth open in shock. Other tribes probably didn't dare attack Night Furies.

I saw the figure drawing closer and closer to the sand and, though I wasn't close enough to see his face, I imagined him closing his eyes and readying himself for the blow. I waited for him to hit the ground, watching like everybody else.

Instead of hitting the ground, however, the Night Fury looked down and, abandoning his quest for a safe landing, he snatched the boy out of the air with his claws, gripping the boy's upper arms tightly. The small Viking's boots kicked up a cloud of dust and sand as the dragon released him carefully, letting him fall onto the sand gently.

The Night Fury collapsed beside the boy, drinking in the sight of the human, safe and sound on the sand beside him.

I guess you could say that I wasn't ready for all of this excitement, especially not this early in the morning, which I definitely considered as too early to deal with all of this. I stared down at the boy and the dragon for half a second and struggled to regain my composure. I was still the chief, I still had to lead these people, and they were looking to me for guidance. They had never had to deal with this before, either.

"Get them." I ordered quietly. "Lock them up."

"Lock them up?" Mildew was the only one to question my order. "Are you…you can't be serious, Stoick."

"When he wakes up," I nodded at the boy, "let me know and I'll be there straightaway."

"Do you honestly want to keep a devil on Berk?" Mildew asked incredulously; the dragon's teeth on the end of his staff rattled as he pointed at the small red-haired boy who was really not much bigger than the average Viking toddler.

"A devil?" Gobber repeated disbelievingly.

"Think of it!" Mildew snapped crossly, banging his staff once upon the ground. "This boy has just been riding the most evil of all dragons, a Night F—

"Put a sock in it, Mildew," Gobber advised.

His interruption did the trick; Mildew looked so surprised and cross that he quit while he was ahead, instead just sending me a venomous glare.

Far too used to the old man's antics to care, I turned to the few villagers who had listened to my request; the Night Fury was now chained up completely and Spitelout held the boy's limp body in his arms.

That was when I got my first real glimpse at the young boy's face. He had countless freckles splashed across his cheeks, a mop of red hair with bangs that fluffed out and covered his eyebrows, clothes that were ragged and ripped in every possible area imaginable until you really couldn't call it clothing anymore so much as rags. The one garment that remained intact was the thick, brown fur vest he wore. He slumped against Spitelout's arm, worry lines creasing his eyebrows. He wasn't scarred enough to be disfigured, but just by looking at him, I could tell he had had more injuries than your average Viking sustains in his lifetime.

He was just a boy. He was merely a child, resting his head on Spitelout's shoulder, just a boy who barely looked more than ten or eleven. But it wasn't this realization, no, it wasn't pity that made me pause.

It was the auburn hair that was the same shade as Val's had been. The freckles on his face that were in the same spots hers had been. The frown of discomfort as he shifted slightly in Spitelout's arms, unconsciously struggling to regain consciousness, reaching up to put a hand on his head.

He looked so much like her, like Valhallarama. There could be no mistaking it. Hers was the face that I saw in my dreams and whenever I closed my eyes, it was there behind my lids, laughing and joking, as wonderfully carefree as she had always been in life.

I knew it was memory, not grief, that made me recognize him.

He looked too much like her for it to be coincidence. And in that moment, I froze, the cry of seagulls ringing in my ears, waves crashing against the rocks, the world suddenly tilting under me as I felt like the carpet had been yanked out from underneath my feet once more. The gods really loved to mess with me.

I tried to steady myself. I told myself I had a village to look after and that I couldn't let myself get caught up in this. But then, I realized as my eyes flickered back down to him, I couldn't let this slip through my fingers, either. He looked too much like her for it to possibly be real. He had to have her blood running through his veins, because that shade of red was her hair and those sunspots were _her_ sunspots. That face shape was her face shape and those long arms were her arms.

As I came back to myself, I realized my people were staring at me, concerned frowns etched on their faces.

Spitelout was starting to head for the dungeons, the ones last used in Grimbeard's time, and I reached out a hand and stopped him.

"No." My voice was low and cracked, trembling with grief.

"Stoick…" My brother's voice contained only worry for me.

"No. I-I've changed my mind. I don't want him in a cell anymore. Lock the dragon up, but give me the boy."

Gobber and Spitelout exchanged uncertain looks, so I tried to inject some more urgency into my voice. "Give him to me, now!"

Spitelout obeyed hesitantly, and, when I had him in my arms, I was taken by surprise. He was small, yes, but also light and wispy, his slim build making him easy to hold. He stirred a bit more persistently in my arms and I tightened my hold on him, making sure to keep it gentle but firm.

I stared down at him for another long second, fascinated by how much he looked like her, caught up in wondering if his eyes would be the same sparkling emerald. Or would they be gray, like mine? I wondered for half a second and my heart clenched.

_He's got nothing to do with you, you know that._

No, that couldn't be true. There wasn't much that made him resemble me at all, but he had to have been related to her in some way and the only way I could think was if he was her son.

As I struggled to remember myself, I became aware that the villagers were still staring at me, and even the stupidest had by now realized something out of the ordinary was occurring here. "Um…" My voice trembled in my uncertainty. "Go…go about your business." I lifted my chin resolutely, offering them no explanation, although I knew that was the quickest way to start a rumor. I didn't care. All I wanted was to escape.

When nobody moved, I began to speak again, but, to my surprise, it was Gobber who cleared them all away instead. "ALRIGHT, GET OUT OF HERE, YA NOSY COWS!" he shouted insultingly. "THE CHIEF WANTS TO QUESTION THE BOY, CAN'T YOU SEE THAT? NOW GET OUT OF HERE!"

The villagers dispersed quickly after that and I sent Gobber a nod of thanks as I began to trudge back to my house. He fell easily into step beside me, twisting his prosthetic around on its base.

I eyed him for a couple seconds. "Gobber, I think it's best if I talk to him alone first."

"Stoick…" Gobber glanced uneasily around; the people who hadn't witnessed the boy's arrival were clearly curious about who I was holding. He gave a slightly frustrated sigh. "Oh, forget it. Let's wait till we get there."

I wanted to tell him he wasn't coming with me, but then I realized that a part of me genuinely wanted to spill my suspicions to Gobber. I tightened my lips and my hold on the boy.

When I reached the creaky wooden door to my house and had pushed it open, Gobber began speaking. "Stoick—

I turned away from him, fussing with getting the boy settled on the floor. He shivered slightly in his sleep, reaching out for me. "Toothless…" he mumbled deliriously. "Toothless…"

His shudders and mumbles decreased when I covered him up with a blanket, but, without his voice to distract me, I realized he was strikingly different from Val in several ways. The few injuries I had noticed decorating his face were highlighted by scars, scars and more scars, covering his face and neck and hands, every inch of unprotected skin I saw. His sleeve was badly torn and I could see the scars of a whip disfiguring the pale shoulder.

Gobber must've seen it, too, because he let out a surprised gasp. He knelt down next to the boy and sent me a questioning look. He brushed the boy's bangs away from his hairline, revealing a long, thin cut with dried blood caked around the edges. "Stoick…" he began uncertainly, but before he could finish, the boy on the floor stirred suddenly, reaching up to bat Gobber's hand away from his feathery strands.

"Stop it." he mumbled irritably. "Stop touching me."

Gobber instantly took his hand off the boy's hair, glancing up at me with a worried, 'now-what?' expression. As if he thought I had any idea what to do. He knew me well enough to know that sometimes, I didn't know what to do.

Gobber glanced down at the teen once more with a slight sigh.

"I don't like this."

I cut my gaze down to look at the boy once more, shuddering and shivering beneath the thin and ragged blanket. "I know you don't."

"Stoick, this…is bad." He mumbled lamely. He jerked his head like he was trying to meet my gaze but couldn't quit staring at the boy on my floor.

"He…" I hesitated before adding the rest. "He needs somewhere to go."

"And maybe he doesn't." Gobber replied. "Maybe he just washed up on our island with no supplies _at this time_. In fact, what if he's going back to his island soon to meet up with his parents?"

"I don't…" I stared down at the boy for another long second. "I don't think he does. It's a feeling I have." Even at Gobber's derisive snort, I clung to my conviction. He looked very alone, very independent. Somehow, I got the feeling he had nobody but himself.

"Stoick," Gobber began pacing heavily back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, brow furrowed. "This isn't good. You can't do this."

His words left an icy silence in their wake. My hesitation only seemed to prove his point.

"He needs somewhere to go," I murmured, pacing the length of the living room and hitting the kitchen. "We can't just turn him away."

Yet I met his eyes and suddenly knew that I could, that I should. It was a bad, no terrible, idea to allow the boy to stay.

Gobber followed me into the kitchen. I looked him right in the eye, fully ready to confirm and acknowledge that yes, this was a bad idea. I had merely forgotten myself in the aftermath of seeing him. I took a breath to say these words, but before I could, Gobber murmured sympathetically, "I know what this is about, Stoick. Really, I do."

And it was this, above all, that made me stop. I felt the clenching of my jaw. Of course. He thought I couldn't deal with this boy being on my island, worried that it would break me. Worried that I would get too close, only to get my heart broken again.

And that's when I made the decision. I would keep the boy at arm's length, I would not get close to him. Harshness would mask the affection that had welled up so suddenly, unbidden, unwanted, uncertain.

I wasn't sure if it was right, if it was okay, to feel like this about somebody else on principle. It was because he resembled her a bit, that was all, I told myself, setting my jaw. Gobber would see how distant I could make myself.

"Oh, and what is this about, Gobber?" I hoped my icy tone would be met with only silence, but Gobber had never been one to keep himself to himself.

"It's about Hakon, isn't it?" he whispered.

When I gave a slight gasp, when my jaw unclenched slightly and I reached out to the wall to steady myself, I saw Gobber's sympathetic look again, and again, all it did was stiffen my resolve.

I struggled to regain my composure at hearing my almost son's name. The almost name for the almost son. There had been a lot of almosts with Hakon.

"Of course not," I managed, although my voice was shaking slightly; not a very good defense. "This is about a Viking in need. I admit, I thought he was a little…well okay, Mildew had me believing it when he said this was clearly a sign he was evil, being rescued by the deadliest of dragons, but— I sighed, looking back into the living room where the boy lay. "Look at him, Gobber." And then I realized that, if I hadn't, we might not be in this situation in the first place.

"Really look at him. He's all bloodied up and he's so small he couldn't possibly have put up much of a fight against whoever did it. He's just a kid."

Gobber was silent for a long second, staring at me suspiciously. I think I lied so well in that moment about the reasons for my strange behavior that I convinced even myself in that moment.

Of course, it's always easier to lie to yourself than to a friend, and Gobber's narrowed eyes stayed calculating as he spoke. "If it all goes to hell, just know I warned you, in any case."

I took a deep breath.

A sudden creaking from the next room made me hold that breath. I peeked into the living room and saw the boy sitting up, looking around himself in slightly awed bewilderment.

And, when I slowly edged into the room, taking another good, long look at him, I drew a breath as his eyes met mine. Green. Emerald green. Sparkling, slightly scared, near flinching emerald green.

I blew out a breath, taking a step closer to him. He drew back, looking almost…afraid.

Oh, yes, the gods really did love to mess with me, an almost father.


	18. Skin

Untold

Chapter 18 - Skin

Summary: Set in between To Be Loved the Way You Love Me and Starlight, Star Bright. Hiccup might be a Hooligan by birth, but he sure feels like he's an Outcast some days.

**A/N: Okay, so this idea has seriously been on my mind for a good long while, but I was never exactly sure how to go about it, and I knew there was no room for it in Starlight, Star Bright. When you look at the movie, it seems the adults were a bit more set in their ways than the kids were. For instance, the adults never took the time to listen to Hiccup, while the teens met him in the arena, knowing that he might be wrong about dragons and yet still taking the plunge to trust him anyway, even Snotlout. **

**Furthermore, after SixxAM's "Skin", I knew I had to get this down on paper. I would've really liked to put some lyrics from the song into this story, but, unfortunately, it's been said before that song fics are now not allowed, as the lyrics are not the content of the author uploading their story. If you'd like to hear the song, it's a truly wonderful work and the moment I heard it my mind jumped to this AU. **

* * *

I think even zoo exhibits had less people staring shamelessly at them than I did right then.

Each step with my prosthetic was painful, but with so many eyes on me, I tried not to let it show.

Another half a pace, and the teens whom I had met in what seemed like another lifetime ago fell into step beside me, all talking to me at once, so fast it made my head spin.

Astrid hung back a bit, watching my face every time I took a step with the prosthetic leg.

"Hey, man," Snotlout greeted me with a punch on the shoulder that left me slightly winded. "How you doing?"

"Okay, I guess," I mumbled, unsure whether he actually wanted an answer. It was the first time I'd been out of the house since the snowstorm and the attack with Alvin and…everything. These kids had been reasonably nice to me once it became clear that I actually could help with the dragons, but still…

"You have to admit, that is one amazing battle scar." Tuffnut chimed in.

I felt the heat of a blush beginning to take over my cheeks; his words made me suddenly and intensely aware of each awkward step.

"I guess," I repeated quietly.

As they began going in the direction of the Great Hall for lunch, I realized I was slowing them down – badly. They had all noticeably slowed their pace to match mine, I suspect just so I wouldn't feel bad, but I felt like I had a great big neon sign above my head, glowing with the letters: "COME GAWK AT THE ONE-LEGGED FREAK".

As we reached the threshold of the Great Hall, the pain in my leg was beginning to build and I knew I didn't want them to see this. Instead of following them inside, I leaned a bit heavily against the stone wall and called, "Hey, guys, I'll catch you up, okay? I'll see you later."

I ran a hand down to my knee, where stump met wood, and I winced slightly as my fingers massaged the tender area. I think Tuffnut wanted to stick around and watch the show, just in case I took my prosthetic leg off or something, but Astrid began to herd them all inside without further ado.

At least until a voice stopped them.

"Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston!" A threatening-looking, pale-skinned, fair-haired Viking woman stood there, hands on her hips, a scowl twisting her face. Her long, pale blonde hair went nearly to her waist, leaving me in no doubt who she was. "Come right here this instant!"

"Mom— Ruffnut began.

"But— Tuffnut tried to protest.

"What'd they get in trouble for this time?" I asked.

"I don't know. They like to do yak-tipping a lot," Astrid shrugged, sweeping her braid around one shoulder.

"What have I told you?" she grabbed their wrists with one hand and gestured to me with the other. "What have I told you about him?" She began to drag them off, away from the Great Hall. "I told you, he's an Outcast, I don't want you hanging around him!"

"Mom, he's cool!" Tuffnut said indignantly, their voices growing fainter the farther away they got.

And, just like that, any little bit of happiness or self-confidence that I had gained after Alvin's attack vanished.

I bit my lip as I watched them go, a mixture of guilt and self-consciousness sitting in my stomach like a stone.

"That sounds like my parents," Snotlout commented thoughtfully. "My dad would kill me if he knew I was hanging out with you, Hiccup."

This unexpected news was quickly followed up by a pained yelp as Astrid stepped on Snotlout's foot.

"Why don't we go into the Great Hall?" she suggested in a falsely bright voice, shoving Snotlout in bodily before he could even answer.

Fishlegs followed without complaint; in all the excitement with the twins, he had taken out a book and was now walking while reading, a skill I had to admire.

Astrid leaned against the doorframe as Fishlegs and Snotlout wandered in to get a table. "Hiccup?" her voice was surprisingly gentle. "Are you coming?"

"I'll…I'll catch up." I said quietly. "I'll be there in a second."

Astrid clucked her tongue. "You can't—

"Astrid, I'll catch you up." The interruption was easy; the moment I started speaking, Astrid stopped. I turned away so I wouldn't have to look at her, staring up at the sky.

A few seconds later, the soft 'click' of the door sliding into place let me know that I was now alone.

* * *

"Alright, what's wrong?"

"What do you mean?" I glanced up from the table, dropping my spoon.

"Something's wrong." Stoick announced from his place across from me. He took a sip from his mug and set it down before continuing. "You're being quiet; you just keep staring down at the table like you want to kill it; you're upset."

"I…" I wasn't prepared for people who could tell my emotions just by studying my face. Alvin had never noticed anything was amiss with me when I lived with him. "I'll be fine."

"Obviously, you're not, if something's bugging you this badly," he replied.

I traced a pattern in the tabletop with my finger. There was a second or two of silence in which I thought I might win this round, and then it just came tumbling out. "I don't belong on Berk."

Stoick's brow creased. "What?"

"I don't belong on Berk," I repeated. "I mean…" I glanced down at myself in embarrassment. "Look at me."

He studied me closely for a few seconds. "Explain."

"What?"

"What brought this up? Please explain that to me."

"Well…" And then suddenly, I was spilling the whole story, Ruffnut and Tuffnut's mother, what Snotlout had said and why Mrs. Thorston regarded me as unfit material for a friend.

Stoick's eyes darkened. "Hiccup—

"And it's true." I blurted, cutting right across him. But damn it, his words had cut open a lot of insecurities and I was just going to let them bleed for a couple seconds. "I'm not Berk material, I'm an Outcast!"

"Alright—

"It's just so—

"Now will you listen?" he interrupted gently.

I instantly let my mouth drop closed. "Yes, sir."

"Number one, you're both wrong, you and Mrs. Thorston. You're not an Outcast – you're a Hooligan."

"I—

"Number two, just because you happen to come from an island of exiles doesn't automatically make you a bad person." he took a breath. "You taught me that one, actually. I know when I'm wrong, and I was wrong, then. But she's making the same mistake. I mean, think about it. Why did you come back to Berk when you could've gotten off scot-free?"

"Because I was tired of hiding." I responded instantly, but his eyes drew another answer from me as well. "And because I didn't believe you guys should have to go to war with the Outcasts because of me."

"And that's why you're not an Outcast," he replied. "Because you came back here, and you couldn't have missed the Outcast ships on our shores, but you came back here anyway. You came back here because you cared. And I know a lot of Outcasts who have never cared for anybody but themselves. You're a Hooligan. Wear that title proudly, Hiccup – you deserve it."

I studied the tabletop for a long minute, unsure how to reply, unwilling to look at him. "I'm…I'm not." I managed, very quietly. "I'm not a Hooligan, I'm…I'm—

"Don't let them make you feel that way," Stoick interrupted – not that I had any idea how to finish that sentence anyway. "I told you not to let Alvin make you feel like you were less than – don't let anybody do that, alright? You are not less than. You are _equal_. And you are not an Outcast. You're a Hooligan, by birth, by right. Okay?"

I couldn't look at him, even though by this point, he had risen from his seat and knelt down next to my chair. He took my scarred hand in his. I couldn't look at him; I could only study the scars of ownership Alvin had left all over my body.

"Look at me." And when I didn't… "Hiccup, look at me. Don't be ashamed."

I reluctantly lifted my eyes to meet his. He brushed the hair back from my forehead. "You're perfect, Hiccup, _perfect_. Just the way you are."


	19. Casualty

Untold

Chapter 19 - Casualty

Summary: Growing up in a war means you'll see death.

**A/N: I don't know why I was in such a heartbreaking mood tonight xP anyway, here's my newest thing, set back before To Be Loved the Way You Love Me, shortly after Alvin locks Hiccup up. This was inspired because I fell sick on Wednesday and have done next to nothing except rewatch old Riders of Berk episodes and bemoan how downhill the show has gone. When rewatching We are Family Part 2, I found a sudden urge to write something set on Outcast Island.**

* * *

Growing up in a war means you'll see death. I grew up in the midst of several wars, so I had known that there were casualties.

There had to be casualties, my father insisted. There always had to be. _Always._

I grew up thinking things like that. But by the time I grew older, I had begun to question so many of my village's beliefs, I'm sure that one wasn't far down on my list to question next.

All my questions and ideas did nothing; I only talked my way into a cell sooner rather than later.

I could've avoided it until I was as old as sixteen to eighteen, but I wasn't one to keep my questions or opinions to myself. Especially when somebody spoke out against them.

So I sat there in an Outcast cell, unable to comprehend what I was doing here. My own father had put me here. How was that for a harsh parent?

The kid in the cell beside mine was bloody and bruised, but under the injuries, I could tell he wasn't from our tribe. His bloodstained garments were not the makeshift rags the Outcasts sported; the royal blue and gold colors were the kinds we'd be lucky to get our hands on.

I watched him as he stared down at his chains, doing the same thing I felt like doing: sniffling and crying like a baby.

I pulled my knees up to my chest; maybe his tribe wasn't as forceful on the rule, "crying makes you weak". Even if it didn't, crying was useless, I told myself.

It didn't solve anything. It wouldn't get me out of this cell. It wouldn't—

I gave up and the sobs left my throat. I put my head on my knees, my shoulders shaking as I tried to pretend I was five years old.

It was easier to pretend, anyway.

Was I another casualty in my father's war with the world? Or would I simply be in this cell forever, forced to stay because of all my questions?

Neither me nor the other boy so much as spoke to the other; we exchanged glances and we both cried, but neither of us said anything to the other.

When Savage came in ten minutes later, stopping in front of our cells, the boy gave a gasp of fear and I knew why. The names on this island were scarily accurate, and Savage was certainly no exception.

He unlocked the boy's restraints, handing him off to a guard, letting the other man push him along before turning his attention to me. I pressed myself up against the wall of my cell, wishing I could sink into the floor.

He sneered when he saw the tear tracks on my face. "The little baby's been crying, then?"

I dropped my gaze to his grimy boots, letting my hair drop in front of my face to shield it. If I started crying again, I didn't want him to know.

I peeked up once as he drew closer, and that was to see him raising his sword above me. I winced, anticipating the blow.

* * *

The young boy was back in his cell. I had barely noticed them bringing him back over the sound of my own piercing screams.

When I was sure the guards weren't listening, I leaned up on my hands and whispered, "Are you alright?"

He didn't respond, look up, or even twitch.

"What did they do to you?" My horrified whisper slipped out before I could stop myself.

Maybe he hadn't heard me. Maybe he was deaf. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it.

"Okay." I spoke into the silence once more. "That's okay. You don't have to talk. I hope you feel better in the morning." Because anybody trapped in a cell on Outcast Island deserved a better life than this.

I was about to turn away when I noticed the most terrifying thing about this night: _he wasn't breathing. _

My hands shook on the thin metal bars separating us. "No…"

This boy had been killed. I didn't even know his name. This boy was…was…he was…he was eerily still.

He had been yet another brutal casualty in my father's war.

Because "there must always, always be casualties, Hiccup. Always".


	20. Hurt and Heal

Untold

Chapter 20 - Hurt and Heal

Summary: None

**A/N: So, here it is! The twentieth chapter AND the first one in which Hiccup opens up a bit more to Stoick. What do you think? **

**I've been wanting to write something in this vein for awhile. **

* * *

"Do you think they'll fit?" Stoick asked, watching me examine the fabric with my mouth slightly open. "You're a bit smaller than most Vikings and I'm not sure I got the measurements correct…I know the colors are a bit off…" his voice trailed off, but the uncertainty in his tone hung in the air.

All I could do was stare at the thin cotton garments, silently marveling at the fact that he had actually taken time out of his day and thought of me and taken time to make things easier for me, to do something for me. A kind of warm feeling spread through me when I realized he really didn't know if I was going to like it or not. I thought that he knew me better than that, but the hesitation written in his gaze clearly said otherwise.

"So, do you like it?"

I hesitated a second before answering his question. Yes, I liked the new clothes. But more than that, it was the idea that somebody had done something for me. And not because they had to, or because they felt obligated to, but because they actually cared. Stoick didn't benefit from these new clothes at all. In fact, it had probably taken a lot of time and energy to make these clothes, and yet he had. He had taken the time and thought to actually look at me and mentally measure the clothes against me, he had actually thought of me while making these.

I ran a hand over the thin sleeve of the tunic again; like the ragged green one I was wearing at the moment, the sleeves of the new one would go down to my wrists when I had it on. I felt the fabric between my fingers and instantly recognized that he hadn't just modeled it after my tunic, he had taken the time to make this one thicker.

The clothing spoke more clearly of Berk than anything I thought I would ever own, and for a moment, all I could do was stare at it before realizing I hadn't yet answered Stoick's question.

"Oh, um…" I stared down at the clothing again. "Yeah, I do. I, uh…" I dropped my gaze to the wooden floor, scuffing my boot against it. "Thanks, Stoick. This, um…" I struggled to find a way to say it without sounding like an idiot. "This means a lot to me." Needless to say, I failed.

"Next time you need something from me," his hand found my shoulder, surprising me so much that I looked up at him, "don't hesitate to ask, alright?"

I nodded slightly, still trying to get over the shock and surprise of this unexpected gift.

"Would you like to try it on?" he added hopefully, gesturing to the clothing. "Just to check and see if everything fits? I'll be happy to rework it if something is too big…"

I nodded, secretly glad that he was offering to give me a chance to escape the awkward spell that had suddenly fallen on us. I gently took the clothing from his hands and started up the stairs. Say what you want – I don't get dressed in front of other people for any reason.

As Vikings, it wasn't like we treasured modesty or anything, but it was important to me that no one ever see some of the scars Alvin had left on my body. They had been put there to signify ownership, and I was sure in many people's eyes, that's what they would mean to them.

I reached my bedroom, pushed the door open, and slammed it shut behind me as my gaze returned to the clothes.

The tunic was rust-red and clean-looking, the simple cotton sleeves without even a speck of lint, dirt, or bloodstains. Compared to my old green one, which was more like a giant, ragged fuzz ball than an actual garment, it was pretty sad.

The leggings were dark brown and had no holes; the belt that it came with was a cool, misty yellow.

I pulled my boot off slowly, fingering the clothing. In style, it wasn't that much different from mine, but the careful workmanship was what set them apart. While my green tunic had uneven, crooked stitches and the sleeves did little to keep the harsh wintry air out, the sleeves of the red one were thick enough to ensure shelter from the cold wind and the stitches were perfect and even, made with care and precision.

He had sat up for who knows how long some nights sewing this for me. Again, I was taken aback by how much he seemed to care. I slid the leggings on, but I was forced to stop and untangle the hem from the edge of my prosthetic as it caught around the metal contraption.

I undid my vest and tunic as I heard a light tap on the door. Before I could respond not to come in, the door opened.

"Are you—?" Stoick stopped when he saw me standing there. He didn't say anything after that, and the silence was pretty awkward, so I decided to break it myself.

"Um, I…uh…the leggings fit."

And then I winced at how awkward I sounded.

"Oh, that's good." Stoick responded quietly, as if he was coming out of a reverie. "Did that?" he pointed to the red tunic that lay on the bed behind me.

"I haven't gotten to try it yet." I responded. "I'll…um…yeah." I hesitantly leaned over and took the tunic from where it lay on the bed, glancing at Stoick out of the corner of my eye.

His gaze roved over my body in a worried, almost horrified way as he watched me.

"Are…you okay?" I asked uncertainly, his expression beginning to worry me as well.

He took a breath. "I'm…" and then, abruptly, he stopped himself again. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You're what?" I prodded, my fingers finding the tunic and yanking it up to my chest.

"I…" Stoick took another long breath, but this time it was like he was gearing up instead of shutting down. "Sometimes, I forget…" he managed in a slightly shaking voice, "…that Alvin hurt you so badly. I forget how much I've missed. How many times I wasn't there."

"It's not your fault you weren't there," I mumbled awkwardly, wishing I had just put the stupid tunic on without asking questions. "You didn't even know I was alive."

"I know that," Stoick responded gently. "But when I did know you were alive? I couldn't help what I didn't do, what I didn't know…but what I did do, what I did know…that's what kills me." He crossed the room easily, kneeling down beside me so we were eye-to-eye. The serious look in his eyes made me uncomfortable. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" I whispered. "What do you mean?"

"I can't…I…the thing that kills me about seeing all this…" he paused here to gesture to my torso. "…is the fact that there is a scar from me mixed in. I'm angry with Alvin, I apologize for how badly he's hurt you, but more importantly, I'm angry with myself. I should apologize for myself."

"What…?"

He gently took my hand in his, turning it over, revealing the scar spelling out 'traitor', caught in the act of healing. The scar I tried my hardest not to think about. The scar I tried to keep hidden, right along with the others. "I hurt you, too," he whispered. "Just as badly as he did."

"You're nothing like him— I began.

"But I hurt you." Stoick repeated sadly. "And for as long as that scar lasts, I will hate myself and I will never forgive myself. For as long as that scar lasts, I will try to make it up to you. If you ever think about what I did to you, I will not blame you for hating me. By some miracle, you have accepted my apology. Maybe, one day, an apology won't be enough. One day, you might hate me for what I've done. But I hope that on that day…I hope to Asgard and back that you will remember that I love you."

He ran a finger over my wrist.

"Alvin may have hurt you, he may have hurt my little boy, but I have done the same thing, time and again and the best I can hope for is that I can one day stop. Maybe one day, I'll stop hurting you and finally make you happy."

"Stoick, it's—

"Don't say it," he interrupted, this time almost angrily. "Don't you dare try and say that it's okay. You and I both know it's not. It's nowhere near."

"You do make me happy." I admitted, dropping my gaze to the scar he'd left. "Before I came here, I don't remember ever smiling so much, ever laughing so much, ever having so much fun. You're the closest thing I've ever come to a family and Stoick, I'm sorry, but I'll be damned if I let you go just because of a few mistakes. If you don't want me, that's one thing, and that's fine. But if you do still accept me, well, then…for as long as you accept me, I accept you. There was never any doubt about that one, Stoick."

"I…"

"And I don't care what you try to say about it, it really is okay now. It wasn't at the time. You…" I dropped my gaze to the floor so I wouldn't have to look at him. "At the time, you scared me. You hurt me. But I'm alright now and you've more than made up for it every day since. You're one of the best things that ever happened to me. Please don't think you're the worst."

Stoick stared down at me for a second in surprise. "You…you truly mean that?" The look in his eyes was so genuine.

I nodded slowly.

He traced a finger over my cheek. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

"You're missing the point." I put my hand over his; his palm dwarfed mine greatly. "You think it's a matter of making it up to me, but you already have made it up to me a hundred times over. And I have no doubt that you'll keep doing that."

"You have to know this." he insisted gently, disregarding my last sentence. "You have to know that my biggest regret in life is hurting you."

"But you didn't just hurt me." I whispered, sinking to my knees as well, letting him carefully wrap an arm around me, like he found me indescribably breakable. "You healed me, too."


	21. Thunderstorm

Untold

Chapter 21 - Thunderstorm

Summary: Hiccup doesn't like storms.

**A/N: Well, here you go! 3,000 words! Hope you enjoy :D This idea was given to me by RazzlePazzleDooDot. We got into a discussion about whether or not this AU Hiccup likes storms.**

* * *

When I awoke, it was storming. Not the gentle, drizzly rain that turned the sky a bit gray; a fully-fledged thunderstorm with a heavy downpour and bright white forks of lightning that practically lit up the sky. The howling wind alone could've shaken the hut right down to its foundations.

I knew I would be getting no more sleep from the moment I opened my eyes.

I reached out a hand, hoping to relax myself by stroking Toothless' scales, but my fingers met only the cold hardwood of the floor. The feel of the floor beneath my fingers forced me to remember the last storm like this: Toothless pulling against his chains, whimpering in the back of his throat as his desire to be free was made known.

Toothless loved rain. He loved the sights and sounds and smells of a thunderstorm, yelping with excitement every time there was a particularly loud clap of thunder, dancing around and trying to guess when the next strike of lightning would be. The louder and fiercer the storm, the heavier the rain, the brighter and scarier the lightning, the better it was, at least in Toothless' head.

The last time there had been a storm like this, I had lain shuddering in my cell, my arms over my head, trying not to hear the loud booms and claps of thunder overhead. I did much the same thing now, yanking the blanket over my head, shuddering beneath the blankets.

I could almost hear Toothless' shrill, excited yelps as he frolicked in the rain, large pink tongue dangling out, catching stray drops. Of course the wind and rain and thunder were much too loud for me to even hope to hear him until they abated, but I knew, if I could, that's what I would hear.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the world outside my little blanket, burning orange in front of my tightly closed eyes.

I hated, just _hated_, storms. I didn't like admitting it, or other people knowing I didn't like them – too much risk of them using things like that against me in the future, I thought – but that couldn't be helped sometimes.

And it wasn't like I was scared of them, I comforted myself, as another boom shook the hut, causing me to jump. My heart sped up slightly and I tightened my trembling grip on the blanket.

I simply detested the loud, distracting booms, the howling gusts of wind, the often freezing rain and the lightning. Oh, the lightning. Now that really was the worst part of a storm. It just seemed so big and angry, a storm did, and each flash of lightning was a reminder, at least to me, of how very small I was, how small and vulnerable and helpless.

And if there was one thing I hated, it was feeling helpless.

Every time a storm had occurred on Outcast Island, I remembered running as fast and far as I could in the forest, trying to beat the fat, cold raindrops and the loud booms of thunder sure to come. Sometimes, I made it and sometimes I didn't, but they both had the same result whenever I got back: to run into my house and bury myself under the covers on my bed, shuddering every time lightning flashed across the sky. Sometimes, I would even cry if the storm were particularly bad; that was how afraid of them I used to be.

I was stronger, now, though, I assured myself silently, rolling over, making sure to take the blanket with me. And I was not scared.

* * *

It was the first time I would ever try to escape from Outcast Island, but it certainly wasn't the last. The night started with hope, and a possibility of escape; so why did it end in sadness and hopelessness and fear?

It had been completely dark in my cell, that much I remembered. The only illumination I received was the occasional flashes of lightning from my tiny, barred window, too high above my head to see out of at the time, too far up to offer me any hope of escape.

Besides, it wasn't like I was stupid enough to try and repeat my actions from earlier tonight, after such a harsh punishment for them.

Things had actually started out okay for Toothless and I, but when the storm hit is when things started going nightmarishly wrong.

We had escaped from our cells quietly; we had made it out of the dungeons and onto the end of the island, where sand met ocean with no one's knowledge. We were practically invisible against the night sky, especially a starless night like this, with dark, heavy clouds moving in. There was no moon.

We exchanged excited glances and Toothless settled down for a second, but only for a second, and that second was all I needed to climb up on his back and turn my attention to the sky. I could feel the static in the air, hear the distant rumbles of thunder, and my grip on his reins tightened slightly. I was twelve years old, and I knew I should be a man. And besides, I had come this far. It was too late to reschedule, to wait to do it another day. It was now or never. We might not be so lucky if we waited until next time.

My gut lurched as he began running along the sand, kicking up dust and gathering speed as the thunder grew louder and louder, as the clouds burst open and he threw himself up into the sky…

We made it barely three feet off the island before the rain started, before the lightning flashed, hit his tail, and sent us plunging back to the ground. I sat up, spitting out a mouthful of sand and staring down at his prosthetic tail, now hopelessly burned beyond repair. The escape attempt had been a failure.

Another round of thunder, and I shuddered, hiding my face in my knees for a few seconds so I didn't have to look at the sky, or Toothless, or anything. So I could just shut the world out for a few precious seconds and pretend to be alright. And then I raised my head again, once the thunder had passed and quieted, and I stroked his head comfortingly, although I wanted to be comforted too, right then. But it was my failure, and I had to fix it. My screw-up. My repair. "We can swim." I whispered. "If we swam fast, we could make it away from here before the storm even clears. Before it's even half over."

But this was not likely, and we both knew it. I wasn't a strong swimmer at the best of times, and, although Toothless was strong enough for both of us, eventually he would give in, too. The makeshift tail I had created from the odds and ends I had picked up when I could risk sneaking out, or sweet-talk/confuse (mostly confuse) one of the guards into letting me out wouldn't have gotten us very far anyway.

I stared miserably down at the burnt, soaked metal substitutes. No, they wouldn't have gotten us very far. And his tail was a lightning magnet as is. I should have thought of that. I pulled my knees up to my chest as I watched another strike of lightning flash across the sky. "We'd never have made it anyway," I whispered to the lonely, black night. "C'mon, Toothless. It's time for us to think of something new."

I rose to my feet and brushed myself off, wrapping my arms around myself to lock in as much body heat as possible – not easy when I was drenched from the freezing rain. I pushed myself forward, already relaying the newest plan to Toothless, waiting for him to give me his input on it. I had already come up with several plans over the weeks and he'd either shot them down or approved them, at least until one of us found a (usually gaping) hole in it.

"Alright," I whispered confidentially, "we'll hide out, I guess, in the forest. Let's go back to the cove. I guess we'll just lay low until the storm abates, let Alvin think we're too far gone to catch and then—

But I was cut off by the sound of a cracking twig, coming from the direction of the forest I spoke of right then. I stopped walking instantly, flinging out an arm to stop Toothless, too, but this wasn't really necessary; he had stopped the instant I had.

We dropped to the ground instantly, Toothless picking me up, shielding me with his wings to quiet the sound of my shudders from the cold and the storm and to hopefully shield me from view from any person. If he closed his eyes right then, he'd be practically invisible.

Maybe it was just an animal, I thought to myself as I tried to calm my panicked, racing heart. It was an animal, or the effect of the wind and rain on a branch…

I clung tightly to Toothless, listening hard through his wings for any other sounds, but it was hopeless; his thick, warm scales blocked out any sound instantly.

So I just shut my eyes and prayed that someone or something would get us out of this, or get Toothless out of this, at the very least. He didn't deserve this. He had been dragged into this by me.

There were a few loud, panicked yells and Toothless tightened his grip on me anxiously, worried moans making their way out of his throat as he nuzzled the top of my head. I tightened my own grip on him, trying to meet his eye, but he wasn't looking at me as he slowly raised his head. Low growls made their way out of his throat for a few seconds and my anxiety only increased.

Then Toothless' wings vanished from around me, and my only warmth and protection was gone. I blinked open my eyes just seconds before a hand grabbed me by the collar, hauling me right back to where I came from. I gave a panicked glance around for Toothless, watching several Outcasts beating him into submission. The sight of them punching and kicking my dragon was enough. "Leave him alone!" I commanded, struggling to break free from whoever held me. "Just leave him alone!"

I felt a fierce blow to the back of the head and a rough Outcast voice telling me to shut up. The burning pain and the spots of color bursting before my eyes forced me onto my knees, but the Outcast holding me didn't seem to care; he insisted on continuing to drag me along. No matter what he had to do to get me back into my cell, it was clear that that was what he was going to do.

I was dragged helplessly along, away from Toothless, away from the raging storm and back into the dingy little cell that now served as my home. I stared miserably around at the stone walls, only halfheartedly trying to resist the shackles the man began fastening securely around my wrists.

When he left the room, it was with these solemn words: "Alvin will be here shortly, runt. Sit tight."

The metal door slammed shut, leaving me in darkness.

He hadn't been lying about "shortly"; within just a few minutes, the door had opened again and Alvin was standing there, one hand fingering the hilt of his sword, the other slamming the heavy door shut behind him. "How did you do it?" he spat, taking a step closer to me as the door slammed shut all the way, plunging us into pitch black.

"I…what?"

"How did you escape?"

"Why should I tell y-you?" My fear was given away by my stammer.

He took another few steps forward, bridging the gap between us easily and taking out his sword, holding it close to my throat. "Start talking."

"I—

He pressed it down, hard. "I'm waiting."

"I…it was easy," I managed. "The guards would let me out if I convinced them, or if I tricked them. I picked the lock on my handcuffs. That part was really easy."

"What else?" The blade was now so close to my throat that I could barely speak.

"Scrap metal," I choked. "For Toothless' tail. I picked it up from around the forge."

"How long were you planning this?"

"A few weeks."

He swore quietly under his breath, drawing his sword back. I let out a breath of relief, my limbs trembling from the adrenaline and fear of the night.

As if to underline that he wasn't finished with me, however, he kicked me in the ribs, causing me to crumple at his feet, gripping my side tightly. "Did you really think you could get away from me?" he snarled, landing another painful kick. "Did you really think you could escape me that easily?"

"You're hurting me," I whispered painfully, but he didn't hear.

"You are never getting away from me," he sneered. "I own you."

"I'm a person, not an object!" I began indignantly, but he silenced me with a slap on the face.

"Shut up," he snarled. "Just _shut up_. You're not escaping from me, is that clear? Any more attempts like this and you will _regret it_."

I scowled. "I'm not scared—

"Liar." he sneered, landing another kick before drawing his sword and kneeling down next to me, looking at me almost thoughtfully. "Now, let me see," he began in a leisurely way, letting the blade tickle my neck before shooting up to my cheek, down to my side, back up to my forehead. "Where do I want your newest scar to be?"

My flinch gave me away, and he chuckled.

By the end of the night, his rage was gone and so was my defiance.

"Never forget it," he snarled. "Never, ever. I own you."

"Please," I choked. "Please, no more. You're…you're h-hurting me."

"What did you think was my intention, you fool?" he demanded, his harsh voice cruelly amused. "You're an even bigger weakling than I thought. Can't even withstand a decent beating."

I closed my eyes against his words, but I knew he was right. A stronger man than I would have just kept silent. "No more," I blurted, unable to keep calm when the thought of the torture that was sure to come loomed over me. "Please, no more."

"Then control your tongue and your temper."

"I promise." I managed.

"Stop resisting."

"I'll stop." I whimpered.

"I own you."

"You…you…" the words were foul on my tongue, but I managed to spit them out. "You own me."

* * *

I sat straight up in bed, panic sitting in my stomach like a stone. In the darkness, Stoick's spare bedroom could've been an Outcast cell. I let out a piercing, high-pitched scream, expecting Alvin to be upon me at any moment, expecting anything to come out of the shadows from where it lurked. Tears welled up in my eyes as the storm only seemed to grow louder, the very universe amused by my pitiful attempts at survival.

I whimpered, drawing the blanket up closer beside me before I heard a creak on the stairs and I shuddered again. Someone was coming to get me, to shut me up for being so loud. I instantly lay down again, rolling over, trying to pretend to be asleep.

The door flew open and Stoick walked in, the floorboards creaking loudly as he stepped in all the weak places, making his loud, heavy way over to me. "Hiccup, Hiccup, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

I shrank down slightly under the covers, but it seemed rude not to answer him now, so I opened my mouth to tell him, yeah, sorry, I'm fine, but what came out was, "I'm s-scared."

"What?" he sat down on the edge of the bed and scooted closer to me. "Did something happen, Hiccup? What are you scared of?"

I was shaking as I released my grip on the blanket, groping around for his hand in the darkness. "I don't like storms."

"Oh, Hiccup…"

"Alvin h-hurt me during one of them."

"Oh, son—

"And…and I tr-tried to escape from Outcast Island…" _That's funny. I don't remember letting those tears fall. Normally I'm better at holding them back. _"…And he b-beat me for it. He told me, 'I-I own y-you.'"

The dam broke, the tears began falling faster, and I squeezed his large hand with both of mine. He pulled me up into a hug, listening to me sob for a few minutes.

"I'm…I'm scared, Daddy," I whimpered, clinging to him like a child. "I don't like storms."

"I know."

"They're scary."

"I know." His warm, soothing hand on my back was warm and comforting and solid; I wanted to stay like this all night.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve, trying to stem the flow of tears, knowing I wouldn't be able to. "Alvin liked to h-hurt me during storms."

"I'm sorry, Hiccup. I'm so sorry."

"Don't let him hurt me, okay?"

"Never. I'm right here for you, okay?"

I nodded. "Okay."

There was silence for a while.

"Don't…" I hesitated before saying it. "Don't leave me alone, okay?"

"C'mon." he whispered, taking my hand and gently tugging me up off the bed. "Why don't you come sleep in my bed? Would you like that? That way, you don't have to be alone."

The idea did sound nice. I realized I would like that. I nodded shakily, and he helped me all the way downstairs, even though I didn't even need help.

He waited until I was safely on one side of the bed before crawling onto the other side, taking my hand, and giving it a squeeze. "You're alright, Hiccup. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you."

"Storms are scary." I whispered in a small voice.

"But you're okay. If you need me, I'll be right here, okay?" He drew me into a tight hug, letting me rest against his chest. I buried my face in his beard and shirt for a few seconds as he hugged me. "You're alright. No one's ever gonna hurt you again, alright?"

The storm outside seemed to drop a bit as I replied. "Okay."

Maybe this storm wasn't so scary after all.


End file.
